A Flower in Brooklyn
by love97
Summary: FINISHED! FINAL CHAPTER UP. In the wake of a tragic war, amidst being engulfed with the growing threat of the Queens boys, Spot meets Gabby, someone who could quite possibly change his life forever as well as his fate.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** Sadly I don't own Newsies.

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_**Prologue**_

New York City's children had seen just about everything by the year nineteen hundred, and the newsboys were no exception. Mostly consisting of orphans, the newsies had learned to survive on each other. They weren't recognized by some as highly respected, but they didn't need the attention of high society; they had their own social order. Naturally, this society had its triumphs and its struggles, its heroes and its villains. There had been countless fights, hundreds of conflicts, and dozens of battles. But a war between New York's boroughs was rare and was guaranteed to be both tragic and glorious.

The oldest rivalry, some say, was between Brooklyn and Queens. For years the two territories held an ardent hate for the other. As the leaders rose and fell, the new rulers made no attempt to make a change. They stuck to their traditional ways and vowed to uphold the custom of loathing the enemy. Many times the boroughs' newsies crossed paths and clashed, but eventually walked away with a slap on the wrist.

However, a man took over Brooklyn and a man took over Queens. As ritual called for it, they naturally despised one another. Violence and hostility had reached its highest point while these two kings were in rule; they fighting had gotten worse, dozens of boys died, and things had just gotten too dirty to handle. Both men knew they had to put an end to it once and for all. At the end of eighteen ninety-nine, a showdown took place to prove who was the better territory. They met, they fought, and there was only one victor.

It was the first time Brooklyn had been defeated. Spot Conlon, the proud leader, had fallen from grace. He had failed and everybody saw. Although he himself had survived, the ultimate defeat was on his shoulders. Tyce Nichols, the fearless ruler of Queens, conquered Brooklyn. Many were dead and injured on both sides, but it was clear who the winner had been.

Spot Conlon had never lost a fight in his entire life until that day. He lost more than a mere tussle; he lost lifelong friends, his reputation, and his dignity. But loyal were his boys and they stuck with him, even though he had lost the spark that made Spot so famous. His honor slumped, his respect plummeted, and, worst of all, a wall had built itself around his heart. He was wrapped up in guilt, and when a man is that at fault with himself, he turns cold and bitter. No longer did he believe in that mythical thing called "love". He was a prisoner of lust; chasing skirts and sleeping with meaningless girls. But just as it looked like it had gone out, something started to happen that would make that famous Conlon spark light up again.


	2. Poker Night

The sun, which was hidden by a mass of miserably gray clouds, began to rise over the city. As morning crept into the newsies' lodging house house, boys ranging from five years to seventeen trudged out of bed to get ready for the day. Spot Conlon hesitantly opened his blue-grey eyes to find that indeed he was awake and there was no going back to sleep now. He placed a hand over his eyes and tried to imagine he was elsewhere.

A hand smacked at his face and he separated his fingers to see Bolt, his trusty second-in-command, making his usual attempt to get him out of bed. "C'mon, Conlon."

Spot let out a groan and hoisted himself to an upright position. He struggled to keep his eyes opened as he rolled from the top bunk onto the wooden floor with a thud. He traipsed toward the sinks and passed his boys, yawning and moving slowly. Since most of the boys had been doing this their entire lives, it had only been a matter of minutes until they were out the bunkroom, down the narrow staircase, and on their way to the distribution place to sell the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. Dew kissed the streets as the day began in the city. Spot ambled his way down the street with Thompson and Bolt alongside him.

"Conlon, ya up for poker tonight?" Thompson asked as he kicked a pebble in front of him with his brown boot. "I got some Manhattan boys to join us."

Of course Spot would be up for poker. He hadn't seen any uptown newsies in a long time; the walk across the frigid river was quite hindering. They would get together to play a few rounds while gambling their pennies away and talking about the latest news and such. Then Bolt or that Racetrack Higgins would win entirely and they'd call it a night. It was the same thing every time, though. Spot would get a lucky feeling about a hand and he ended up with money squandered as opposed to won. These little poker nights now didn't seem as much fun as they used to be, before the war and even before the strike. Afterward, the boys would call it a night and Spot went out onto the fire escape to drink is way into a peaceful slumber. Actually, that part was something he was accustomed to every night.

"Yeah, sure," Spot answered reluctantly.

"Well, definitely be countin' me in!" Bolt said enthusiastically. "Got a good feelin' about tonight!" He sarcastically began to walk with a strut and adjusted the gray hat upon his light brown hair.

"Ain't you the cocky little shit?" Thompson asked and put a foot out, successfully tripping Bolt.

The headlines were actually pretty decent today, thankfully. On the first page was the beginning of a report on mysteriously linked murders throughout the city. A little further down was an article involving a twenty-year-old girl and a well-known political figure. Bolt and Spot sat upon a bench just outside the office as Bolt skimmed across the thin pieces of paper.

"They'se just makin' my job too easy," Bolt commented. "Pretty soon we won't need to be doin' this anymore!" he said with dollar signs in his eyes.

Bolt saw one of the corners of Spot's lips turn up into somewhat of a slight grin, but saw it shrink away again. He hadn't seen Spot smile in ages. Bolt sighed and got up, retrieving his hundred papers to go to his selling spot.

"Hey." Bolt snatched Spot's hat and threw it at his chest jokingly. "Stop lookin' like your out to murda half 'a Brooklyn. See ya tonight."

Spot gave some sort of lazy wave and rubbed his forehead. He sat on the bench, relaxing in his solitude and not caring that he was wasting valuable selling time.

A modest light bulb swung from the ceiling and cast a yellowy dim lit across the room. Smoke settled and hovered over the splintered wooden table at the center of the nearly vacant bunkroom, swooping down to the coins, around the cards, and back into the air again to circulate. Racetrack's dark eyes shifted around the four other boys at the circular table as he evaluated their faces. Jack was for sure holding a weak hand (he was the easiest to call), Thompson seemed to possibly have a decent one but not decent enough, Spot was just impossible to read at all anymore, and then there was Bolt who sat to his left. He knew all the tricks in the book about playing poker and he was exceptionally difficult to read. He was Racetrack's equal and it drove him up the wall.

"All right, boys," Jack Kelly said with his usual charming smile as he combined his cards into one. "Call." He lightheartedly tapped the corner of the group of cards against the table.

Race watched intently as Jack made a weak pair of eights face the ceiling. Thompson blinked and paused, showing a three of a kind in fours. Spot turned over his cards and flung them toward the center, indicating a fold. Race smirked to himself as he gazed at his straight of diamonds, until Bolt cleared his throat. The Brooklyn boy of sixteen years tossed over his cards and showed four queens, stomping all over Race's straight.

"Your turn," Bolt said to the Italian boy from Manhattan.

Without flipping them over, Race smacked his hand on the table's surface, causing chuckles to arise from the other boys. Bolt grinned arrogantly as he gathered his winnings. Thompson applauded and Jack shook his head in amused defeat.

"Queens," Spot started in an emotionless voice, "how nice." He got to his feet, grabbing the half-empty bottle of whiskey that sat at the leg of the chair. While no one interrupted and the air was thick, he weakly opened the window and crawled onto the rickety fire escape.

Jack held up a hand to halt the game and got up, repeating the same thing Brooklyn had just done. Spot stood facing the streets and one hand gripping the rail loosely. He stared out in front of him with a blank expression. Jack joined him at this side and placed his hands in his pockets. "Hey."

"Hey," Spot responded coolly. He uncapped the bottle and took a swig of the strong-smelling alcohol.

"I see that Brooklyn luck ain't workin' for ya tonight, eh?" Jack joked and smacked his shoulder.

"It ain't luck, Jack," he said solemnly.

Jack was at a loss for words. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise; that was David Jacobs, the walking mouth. He turned around and leaned his back against the thing railing and folded his arms across his chest in the process. "Everythins' gonna be fine, Spot," was all he got out.

"Tell me, Jack, when was the last time you lost to Tyce Nichols?" Spot inquired coldly and drank another sip. "These things don't just happen and then ya forget about 'em a day later. I lost fourteen boys that day and nineteen in total. That's nineteen boys I'll never see again. They had to die all 'cause I needed the satisfaction of bein' Brooklyn." Spot turned around and mimicked Jack only putting his head down. "Wasn't even worth it. Brooklyn's a mess and Queens is stronger, all 'cause 'a me. I shoulda just put the gun to myself and done everyone a favor."

Jack knew this was just Spot's mood and anger talking. The real Conlon would never talk of suicide or have all this regret bottled up. "Shut the hell up, Spot. At least ya didn't leave the boys, that's sayin' something right there. D'ya know how bad things woulda gotten had ya left? Or died? Brooklyn would be even more of a mess." Jack ran a hand through his own chocolate brown hair. "Ya just gotta get outta this slump. It ain't good for ya or anyone else for that matter. All that shit's in the past so don't worry about it. I ain't seen ya this depressed since…" Jack thought on it, "well, I ain't never seen ya this depressed."

Spot crossed his arms firmly over his chest and looked at his surroundings. The bottle of whiskey was already half empty.

"So get some sleep tonight. Everythin'll work itself out." Jack started his way back into the lodging house. Just after he made his way completely inside, he turned and poked his head through the window. "And about Tyce…"

Spot looked up at him.

"Ya know, he's still alive if ever ya wanna get some vengeance," he joked and shut the window.

Actually, vengeance seemed pretty sweet right about now. But he couldn't think about surprise attacks in Queens right now. All he could see was that end of that day as Spot watched his boys suffer at the hands of Queens. He himself had fought to the edge of life and if only he had been a bit stronger, they would have won. He visualized Tyce standing over him, bloodied and smiling his viscous smile heinously. Spot fought him off with all of his might as Tyce's hands wrapped themselves around his neck. With every fiber of his being he tried to muster up the strength, but he simply couldn't. Shamefully, he held up his hands in defeat and lay on the ground on his back, a disgraceful position to be in being Spot Conlon. Tyce laughed maliciously, yanked Spot's key from his neck, and rose up to stand. With a triumphant raise of hisstrong arms, Tyce declared his victory over Brooklyn.

Spot quickly downed the alcohol and stumbled over to lean against the wall and sit on the fire escape. The empty bottle held limply in his grasp and as he fluttered his eyes closed, the bottle dropped below him and crashed to the alley. Within seconds, sleep had consumed him.

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So there's the first chapter! PLEASE review! They are greatly appreciated and strongly encouraged, hehe! 


	3. Ace

Days passed and still things were cloudy. The boys of Brooklyn got up, sold their papers, and went to bed. On this particular morning, Spot and Bolt made their way to the distribution office without much conversation to find an old friend had returned home.

"Ace is back," Thompson informed them as they arrived.

"Are ya kiddin' me?" Bolt asked in shock. "He's sure got some balls then."

Spot clenched his fists at his sides. Ace wasn't the person he wanted to be seeing in his Brooklyn. On that final day of fighting, Ace fought hand-to-hand against a Queens boy who had struck Dodge, a close friend, in the head. As Ace was trying to fight him off in Dodge's defense, he stared fear in the face and ran. The Queens newsie then finished off Dodge for good, even though he wouldn't have lasted for much longer. Ace had only been a part of Brooklyn for a very short while before the war, but none of Spot's newsies did that. As far as he was concerned, Ace might as well be dead.

"Why the hell is he at my office?" Spot inquired angrily. "He ain't even a newsie no more, not to me at least."

Bolt and Thompson looked at each other as Spot eyed the scrawny, crooked-smiling fifteen-year-old being greeted by old buddies with slaps on the back and spit shakes, none of which Spot felt he deserved.

"Ya want me to get ya papes?" asked Bolt. "Don't wanna have to bury another boy since I ain't trustin' your anger management, Spot."

Spot thought for a second and leered famously to Thompson and Bolt. "Don't worry about it. He ain't decent enough to be buried."

Conlon made his way easily through the groups of boys to the line. Ace stood, still being greeted, towards the front of the line, and Spot planted his feet six feet away from him in an open space of cement. With his shoulders back and hands placed atop one another over the golden tip of his cane, he waited for Ace to come to him. Gradually the boys became more hushed around him as they watched their leader in fascination.

Ace turned and looked at Spot, his grin vanishing at the intimidating expression upon Brooklyn's face. "Hey Conlon." He saluted in a phony voice that masked fear. He wobbled down the steps and stood in front of Spot, spitting in his palm and holding it in front of him.

Air could have dropped while Spot glared Ace right in the eye, daring him to try being friendly. Dozens of pairs of eyes stuck to the two boys until Spot broke the silence:

"Have a nice vacation, Ace?"

Ace took his hand back and sighed. "How'd I know I'd get this shit comin' home?" he asked rather coolly.

"Why _did _ya come back?"

"Had to eventually." His thin lips curled into a sneering grin and showed his crooked teeth. "And outta respect for Dodge."

The mention of his friend's name uttered from that mouth struck a nerve and Spot clenched, taking a step forward and forcefully shoving Ace's shoulder. "Don't ever say his name, ya hear? I don't wanna hear you mentionin' it ever!" His voice rose with resentment.

The distribution office was silent and even the clerks stopped moving along. Spot's hateful gaze sent shudders through onlookers. Ace stared straight back, a bold move on his part.

"Ain't s'posed to talk about that day, are we? The day we all saw the king himself fall," Ace scathed.

Heated anger built up within Spot as it was felt by everyone around them. Thompson scurried through some boys and out toward Ace.

"Losin' your touch, huh, Conlon?" Ace boldly continued.

Thompson grabbed Ace's arm powerfully and made an attempt to rid him of Spot's rage; but being the stubborn idiot he was, Ace shoved off Thompson.

"My point exactly!" Gotta have this guy push me away, eh, Spot? Surprised it ain't Bolt, though. He still around?"

"Ace, just back off," Thompson warned in a low voice.

"No, I wanna hear it from Spot himself: He failed Brooklyn."

Well that certainly did it for Mr. Conlon. His cane dropped to the ground as he grabbed hold of Ace's collar and shoved him to the ground. The boys swarmed around them as their leader sat over Ace and punched him repeatedly in the face and stomach. Ace didn't stand a chance: Every time he tried to knock him out, Spot blocked his shot.

It was not until the sound of Ace's loud holler of pain when Spot had successfully broken his nose, did Bolt tear Spot off the smaller newsie.

"You get the hell outta here!" Conlon shouted. He got up to his feet and spit at the ground. He stomped out of the distribution place and shoved his way through the herds of people. How dare Ace say things like that. He got what he deserved too.

Refusing to go back to purchase his papers, he plopped down onto the end of an available bench. Childishly he crossed his arms firmly over his chest and he clenched his jaw. A wind picked up and made the tree beside him rustle at the side of his head. Irritably, he swatted at the branch and ripped its twigs right off.

With a frustrated grunt, he turned and laid his back against the thin wooden bench. The plain gray sky stared back at him and the sun was barely creeping out in the distance. He placed his arm over his eyes and soon they blinked to a close. The noises around him drowned out and he immediately grew tired. Within a few short minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

Nearly an hour had passed as he started out of his nap. Slowly his mind awakened again and his eyelids rolled open. His big, round eyes looked above him, and to his surprise found that a girl had taken a seat at the other end of the bench. The sun now shined in the sky and cast a sort of glow around her light brown, shoulder-length hair. Spot couldn't see her face, though, as she read an open newspaper in front of her. A corner of it folded over and Spot now saw her eyes dart towards him. They locked gazes for a moment. She paused and brought down her wall of paper.

"Do I know you?" she asked him, searching her memory.

"Maybe." He remained looking up at her and didn't move.

"You look strangely familiar." She squinted down at him and cocked her head to the side.

_Ah, shit_, he thought. Another one that thought their night together actually meant something to him. He sat up and faced her. "Look, I'm real sorry for leavin' in the morning so suddenly."

The girl gave him a weird look. "What?"

"Huh?" Spot rubbed his eyes and held his forehead in his hand.

"No, you're that newsie. Spot, right? Spot Conlon?"

He looked up at her, thankful that she wasn't some one-night stand haunting him from the past. He nodded.

"I knew I had heard of you!" She smiled sweetly and quickly folded her paper. Situating herself to face him, she held out her hand. "Gabrielle Lawrence."

Spot stared at her thin fingers as if they were foreign objects. Usually shaking a girl's hands was not the first thing he did. "Hi."

"Well, you can call me Gabby if you want." Her voice was perky and sweet and polite; things Spot weren't used to. "How are you? How's everything going?"

Spot was baffled by Gabby's ability to break down the stranger barrier so easily. "It's all right…" he trailed.

Gabby raised the thin brown eyebrows slightly that lay over her light green eyes. "Yeah?"

"Problems with some 'a the guys. Y'know?" No; Spot didn't expect her to know what he was talking about. But he got a cozy, comfortable vibe around her.

"Ohh," Gabby replied slowly with a nod of her head as if she understood completely. "Yeah, I heard that stuff can get a little dramatic. You want to talk about it?"

Spot looked at her peculiarly, but she just smiled and added, "I'm a good listener."

The amiability etched in Gabby's face and warmness in her voice made Spot do something he hadn't done in a long time: he smiled. Not a flashy beam, but a subtle grin turned up the corners of his lips.

"Sure," he mumbled back.

Gabby scooted closer, crossed one leg over the other, and placed an elbow on the back of the bench. "Spill."


	4. Gabby

As the soft breeze swirled around them gently, Spot recalled selective events from the past few months to tell Gabby. He left out all the gory details, like battles and confidential meetings, and avoided memories that were just too damn painful to talk about. Mostly he mentioned the generality of the war and its depressing outcome, including the reasons that had brought him to where he was now. Gabby rested her temple on her hand as she watched him through saddened and sympathetic eyes.

"You poor thing…" she said softly and rubbed his hand that rested on his knee.

Spot looked down at their hands strangely and back up at her. For someone he had just met, she was very at ease.

"But dealing with a loss like that…I know where you're coming from. Well, not exactly, but I understand."

"Really?" Spot wasn't sure if he wanted to get into the story of this girl's life. On the other hand, it _was_ nice to talk about it without someone telling him that he needed to move on and kill Tyce in cold blood.

Gabby nodded and sighed. "Yeah, both my parents just died not too long ago. Got really sick and now I'm all by myself."

For a moment Spot thought she was going to break down and start sobbing uncontrollably, and he definitely wasn't up for that. He would put his best moves on a girl if they were upset in order to "comfort" them, but Spot was neither in the mood to be fake or in the mood to get up this girl's skirt; although it would have been nice, seeing as how she was reasonably attractive.

But that didn't happen. True fact: besides her baby days, there had only been two times in which Gabrielle Lawrence _really_ cried in her life; once for her father's death and once for her mother's. It wasn't that she possessed a cold heart or any rubbish of that sort; it simply took a lot to move Gabrielle to tears and she was particularly hard to crack.

"So, ya got no one?" Spot asked.

"I got no one," she repeated.

Gabby and Spot looked at one another for a moment in time and connected at an unexplainable level. Then the moment was gone.

"Well," Spot stood up, "nice chattin' with ya, Gabby. But I gotta go see if I can still sell some papes." He held out his hand as she shook it politely.

"You too." A charming smile grew to her face. "I'll you see around. Maybe even right here again!"

Spot let out an amused laugh. "If luck'll have it, I'll see ya later right here at this bench." He waved goodbye and trotted to the distribution place.

Gabby sighed contently to herself and went back to reading her newspaper. Her big, almond-shaped eyes scanned over various stories that really didn't interest her. Secretly she just thought it would give her an excuse to sit next that handsome newsboy and possibly strike up a conversation. Her plan was successful.

After twenty minutes or so of picking apart certain articles, she folded up the paper and got to her feet. The sun now peeked through tall buildings on occasion and showered parts of the streets with a rich, golden coating of light. Gabby wobbled about aimlessly in no rush at all. In fact, she was scooting around town out of sheer boredom. It had been exactly nine days since she was left completely alone. Before her parents fell ill with a disease unknown to her, she attended school every day and if she wasn't doing that, she was helping around the apartment. Fortunately, they had left Gabby a large sum of money that was just enough for her to live on for a month in case anything should happen.

After nine days of getting more familiar with Brooklyn, Gabby had nothing to do. She could get a job. Scratch that; she _had_ to get a job. But where to work? One of the factories would be a definite cure for boredom. Then again, she liked the fact that all four of her limbs were still intact. Perhaps a maid? But she truly detested having to clean up her own things, let alone somebody else's. And then there was the option of becoming a showgirl! In fact, while she walked past a bar or club one day, a greasy man asked if she would be interested in being a showgirl for him. According to him she had all the required equipment (a decent-sized rack and a slender body). Gabby simply declined his offer as politely as she could with a disgusted slap across his greasy face. There was no way Gabby would parade around in some corset while middle-aged men chucked spare change at her.

As she strolled along the streets she came upon a bookstore. She hadn't been in one of those in a while and a satisfied comfort came to her. The small shop was quiet as a stout old man dusted the large wooden shelves. Gabby wandered up and down the few aisles slowly, browsing the books' spines and occasionally flipping through some. At the end of the last aisle, the book Huckleberry Finn came to her attention. A short gasp sprang to her lips and she held the hard green cover in front of her face.

Huckleberry Finn was a book her mom always insisted on reading. However, when Gabby left her home all she took with her was a suitcase packed with clothes, a family photo, and her baby blanket. The hike back home to another part of New York City was both arduous and emotional. Without hesitation, she purchased the book and left.

To please her growling stomach, Gabby stopped in at a restaurant she passed quite frequently while trekking around Brooklyn: Sonny's. Never had she been there but she had heard many newsies had their meals there and she hoped the food was all right. Being late morning, the restaurant wasn't too crowded and noisy. People ate quietly at their tables here and there and lone diners consumed their food silently by themselves. Gabby, being a lone diner, sat down at a small wooden table and soon enough a waiter came around for her order. Not long did she have to wait until he returned with her sandwich and glass of water. She flipped to the first page of her book and drowned out her surroundings in the piece of literature.

Almost an hour had passed and a nearly finished sandwich lay in a smile pile of crumbs on her plate. Her concentration was interrupted as waves of newsies began to come into Sonny's. Gabby furrowed her eyebrows at the pages and eventually had to trace her finger along the text to follow along. Just as she flipped the page, a skinny boy of fifteen sat down in the chair across from her.

"God, I'm starvin'," the boy said and finished Gabby's half-empty glass.

"Good morning, Ace," Gabby greeted without turning away from the book.

Ace grunted something back in response and took it upon himself to finish off her sandwich.

"I _was_ going to finish that, you know," she said, slightly irritated and brought the book closer to her face.

"All right," Ace replied through a mouthful of food and continued to eat. "Should you be doin' that _now_? When ya go stuff to do?"

Gabby looked up and stared at his messed face and winced. "Rough morning, I take it. What else did you expect?" Her eyes flicked back down. "You ran and now you're paying the price."

"You shut up," Ace said defensively. "Ain't that easy gettin' back into the swing 'a things."

"Right. But you never got the shit kicked out of you much before," she smiled teasingly.

"I did _not _get the shit kicked outta me!" Ace's voice level rose suddenly as Gabby laughed. He reached across the table and snatched the book with his grubby little hands. Squinting at the cover, he read the title to himself. "Ya shouldn't be wastin' your valuable time with these things. Not now at least." He simply tossed the book to the ground and looked away.

Gabby scoffed and punched his arm. "Pick it up!" she shouted. "I beat your ass when I was eight and I think I can do it again."

"'Scuse me, _I_ won that fight, okay? Past is in the past, so let's not go rewritin' history." Ace reluctantly bent down and retrieved the heavy book. He dug around for money, which was not a whole lot, inside his dark blue pockets and sprawled it onto the table, totaling a mere sixty-nine cents.

Gabby raised her eyebrows and said sarcastically, "Impressive."

"Let's see _you _sell papes," Ace challenged.

"Sorry, I've got my own priorities." Gabby collected her book and rose from the table. She said goodbye to Ace and exited Sonny's Restaurant.


	5. News About Queens

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The early afternoon sun beat down hard upon the back of Spot's neck as he sat observantly on his perch of crates at the docks. This was the place where he could watch down at his boys like a hawk and not be bothered. He was far enough away to hear himself think but not too far. Below him he could still hear anyone speak to him. Across the docks he could see the men who already worked there and his boys running around and enjoying their brook until going back to sell the afternoon edition. 

Bolt made his way up the docks leading toward Spot's improvised throne in a dripping wet mess. He wore only his pajamas and held in his hands a bundle of pants, a shirt and vest, his shoes, and a hat. A playful expression, something everyone who knew Bolt expected to see, was on his face as he looked up at Spot, squinting in the glare of the sunlight. "Missin' the swimmin' tournament!" he called up to him.

Spot expressed his somewhat bemusement. "I take it ya're out then?"

"Thompson's cheatin' somehow." He pulled himself into his brown pants without much care that he was sopping wet. Water stopped dripping from his face and instead started to form little beads on his face and small, lean stomach.

"How'd he be cheatin'? He's been goin' to the mark and back every time." Yes, Spot could truly see everything.

"No, he's cheatin'," Bolt insisted jokingly as he pt on his olive button-down shirt that was well-worn and dirty.

"Whateva makes ya feel better." Spot leaned his arm on top of a box and rested his head on it.

Bolt finished dressing himself and twirled his cap around his fingers casually. He grabbed hold of a box just in his reach and hoisted himself upon it. It wasn't quite as high as Spot's but there was a reason for that: Bolt was right-hand-man to Brooklyn, a noble position to have in most eyes. The two boys sat and watched over everything, chatting on occasion with Bolt doing most of the talking.

"Think we got ourselves a couple 'a visitors," Spot said as he eyed some boys being followed by Brooklyn newies. Bolt sat up and squinted in front of him.

Walking along the docks were two newsboys, most likely from Manhattan, judging from the direction in which they came. The Brooklynites were a very proud and protective group; they didn't like change and were automatically put on natural alert when other boys entered their domain, even if they were allies. Around five or six boys followed the Manhattans closely. But what was Spot to complain? He led a loyal set of boys.

As they neared Spot and Bolt, the two identities became clearer: Jack Kelly and David Jacobs. Spot quickly thought back to the day on which Jack decided to start the strike and they needed Brooklyn's support. Bolt hopped down and made his way toward Jack and David as they spit-shook. Spot noticed David, the walkin' mouth as invented by he, seemed to have grown more accustomed to the swap of fluid as he didn't wince. He was a newsie now.

"Conlon!" Bolt called and led the way to his perch. "Get your royal ass down her!"

Jack and David both looked at each other, wondering if it was okay to laugh.

"Best be watchin' ya mouth, Bolt," Spot responded and jumped down. He greeted each Manhattan boy with a spit shake and sat on a nearby wooden box. "What's goin' on? 'Cause I know ya didn't come down to check up on me."

"Don't flatter yaself," jack said and leaned his back against a wooden pole. He noticed Spot's newsies gradually stop their activities and shift their attention to their leader. "Spot, we got some news about Tyce."

Spot hardened is gaze instantly. "Go on."

The cowboy pushed himself off the pole and took a couple of steps around. Moments passed and he stopped in front of an impatient Spot. "He sorta…well, he disappeared."

Spot furrowed his eyebrows and made a face that looked like he was having trouble believing Jack. "What the hell ya talkin' about? People don't just disappear."

Jack opened his mouth and shut it again. He knew he should have eased into this whole thing. When giving any type of news to Spot Conlon, one had to strategically map out every word or else they would get some kind of scathing retort in response. Jack turned to David and jerked his head behind him.

"Well, you see, Spot," David saved and walked forward in hopes of a recovery. "Last night we got word that Tyce isn't in Queens. He's been gone for a few days and no one's real sure where he went. He could've been abducted, or in hiding for some odd reason, or just takin' a little vacation. Shit, he could've been killed for all we know."

David stared at Spot for a reply and was unable to read his motionless face. Out of his peripheral vision he could see the news soak in to all the boys around him. David stood still and put on hand in his pocket, still waiting for a reply. Jack's eyes darted from Spot to David to Bolt and back to Spot again. After what seemed like a minute, there was movement.

One side of Spot's mouth went upward and to the side. "I like you," he said as if suddenly David was the most respected newsie in all of New York, aside from himself. Without taking his eyes away he pulled over a sturdy wooden box with just his foot in front of him. "Talk to me."

Obediently, David took a seat on the quite uncomfortable char. "To put it bluntly, Tyce's sudden disappearance is dangerous, especially for you. If _any_ leader suspiciously vanished it would be dangerous. But being from Queens given your history, he's twice a threat."

Spot looked to the side of him and thought on this for a moment. David looked behind him and when jack gave him a reassuring nod, he breathed a little easier.

"If Tyce is missin' that means he could be dead," stated Spot.

"Yeah, but there's no tellin' if he's alive either."

Spot sighed and scratched the back of his head. "I guess maybe that's a'right; I think I'd like the honor of killin' the son of a bitch myself."

David fought back to the urge to laugh or even smile. Bolt, however, held nothing back and chuckled while giving a crisp round of claps. Spot turned his attention back to the issue at hand. He placed one hand on his hip and the other on his knee, clutching his chin in thought.

"How d'ya propose we go about handlin' this? I don't really think searchin' for 'im would be smart…"

"Yeah, neither did us."

"So," Jack stepped in before his presence was forgotten about entirely. "We'se thinkin' backup in all the territories. Maybe even spies."

Spot nodded and looked up at Jack. "I like the sound 'a that." He snapped his head quickly toward Bolt. "Hey, get me some boys!"

"You got it, boss." Bolt nodded and took a step to the side to shout in the direction of the docks. "Thompson! Glover! Get ovah here now!"

At once, the two chosen newsies came hurdling towards the end of the docks, both still dripping wet from the water. Bolt got them up to speed on the news and what they were to do.

"I need you guys to together the best we got. I'm gonna need some in the Bronx and Harlem; send the best there. Make sure they'se not real known around the city or nothin', though. They gotta be able to blend without gettin' caught."

"We got some from Manhattan too, Bolt," Jack added. "We'll station a few guys there too."

Bolt nodded. "Guys got it?"

Thompson and Glover bother nodded and departed in a hurry. Spot stood and shook hands once again with Jack and David.

"Ya wanna discuss this more, Conlon?" Bolt inquired.

"No…I think I'm gonna go take a walk. Sort shit out."

All three made no objections and let Spot out of their way. Although he had a talent of hiding it very well, the news of Tyce being missing made him nervous. David was right: Brooklyn was twice as much in danger. Queens was close to his kingdom and it could be attacked in a flash if Tyce so desired. But even though Spot didn't trust Tyce Nichols and loathed every part of him, Tyce was not crazy enough to spring a massacre on Brooklyn. Although they detested each other passionately, there was a mutual respect between them. It was beyond being leaders and beyond being newsies. Meaningless attacks were low.

His feet took him around the streets aimlessly, around corners and through herds of people. He wandered around at a fairly quick pace as he let everything settle into his brain. He hadn't been gone for too long, though; the distribution place was just around the corner. The turn he intended to make was just a few steps away. As he made it, he slammed right into a teenaged girl and they both stumbled backward onto the ground.

Spot rubbed his chest where he was guessing her head had made contact and blinked a few times. In a now dirtied, dark green skirt, Gabby sat directly in front of him. She had her eyes closed as she rubbed them both, along with the red mark above her eyes. Spot smiled to himself.

"Ya okay?" he asked, still on the ground.

Gabby took her hands away and immediately grinned at the sight of who she collided with. "Hi!" She jumped up and promptly grabbed Spot's hands to help him up.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Wasn't expectin' that."

"No problem." She rubbed her head. "Wait!" Her eyes suddenly widened and she took hold of Spot's wrist. "We're not supposed to meet here!"

"Huh?"

Before he had a chance to comprehend this, Gabby was dragging him through the rush of people and soon brought him to the bench where they initially met a couple of days ago.

"If luck'll have it, right?" Gabby said.

Spot smiled as they took a seat.

"So, where were ya headed?" she asked.

"Oh, ya know just kinda followin' my feet. Coincidentally they ran right into you." Spot pondered what he just said and realized that he didn't intend for that to be a pick-up line.

Gabby smiled her lovely grin and crossed her ankles, positioning her torso to face him. "Well, now that we ran into each other, how are you?"

_How am I?_ he thought. _I just got word my worst enemy could be out to murder my boys. _He almost communicated his thoughts to her since he had previously explained about Queens, but it didn't make its way toward his mouth. Instead, he heard himself say:

"Now that I'm here things couldn't be better."


	6. This is Your Life

* * *

"And this Tyce guy makes you nervous because you're enemies?" Gabby concluded after Spot told her what was on his mind. He had spilled quite a bit during the fifteen minutes there on that bench. But she had no room to complain; after all, she _did_ ask who he was. 

"Yeah." Spot thought for a moment and realized how long he had been ranting. "Like ya care, I know."

"No, no," Gabby scooted closer. "I think it's all really interesting. I mean, I never knew exactly what went on in your little…world."

_Little world?_ thought Spot. _I'd call it anythin' but little. _"Oh, okay," was all he said.

What was it about this Gabby Lawrence that made him want to talk and talk for hours? Maybe it was because it wasn't initially drawn to her by looks. Don't get Spot wrong, he was attracted to her. Gabby wasn't particularly stunning, she wasn't leading a trail of drooling boys behind her, and she didn't come off as that confidently gorgeous girl that turned heads everywhere she went. She was just Gabby; bony build, big eyes, and plain brown hair. That was her. And he liked it.

"Anything else you want to talk about? I feel like your therapist and I have to say that I like it," she said.

Spot laughed under his breath. "Nope. That's all I got for today." Really he could go on for days about his messed up life, but that would be incredibly boring for her. "Let's talk about you."

Her light green eyes widened a little. "Me? Well, what do you want to know?"

Spot shrugged. "Are ya hungry?"

"I guess."

"I'm buyin' ya lunch and we'll spend the afternoon talkin' about you for a change. It's payback for all this talk 'a Brooklyn."

A small smile danced across Gabby's face as she crossed her arm with this, which was politely jutted out for her. They strolled along the streets leisurely toward Sonny's in contentment. They didn't talk much during their walk, which was weird. Perhaps each saved their best conversations for when their only focus sat right in front of them. Gabby got a fair amount of tiny butterflies fluttering about her stomach as she wanted everyone to know just who she was arm-in-arm with. He strode next to her as he looked straight ahead of him. Although his lips were straight, there was definite curving upward, and Gabby noticed.

As they approached Sonny's, a big wave of newsies walked out, leaving the restaurant nearly empty. One boy passed the two and asked if Spot was coming to sell the afternoon edition.

"No," he shook his head. "Got more important things to do."

His statement made Gabby twitter silently with delight. Spot had put her before papers. They entered the restaurant and took a seat in a booth near the window, across from each other at the table.

"So, what's your story?" Spot inquired curiously as he took a sip of his Coke.

"Hm…" Gabby looked above her for a moment as the waiter brought around her roast beef sandwich. "Well, you know all about how my parents are dead. I have no siblings or relatives close by that I can live with, so I'm pretty much an orphan."

_Whoa_. She had never really thought about that before it came out of her lips. She was an orphan as well.

"I grew up not far from here actually. My father taught school and my mother gave piano lessons. We weren't rich, I can tell you that. But we weren't destitute either. They left me some money. A lot, actually. I'm just livin' off that for a while." She picked up her sandwich and took a nibble.

"That's tough," Spot replied. "I never knew my motha. She died when I was a baby and my pop raised me 'till I was seven. Just left one day." Spot stared at his plate blankly.

Gabby paused during her chewing as she realized just how depressing it had gotten. She swallowed quickly and changed the topic. "Well, that's all history."

"Right." He picked up his sandwich and bit into it without haste.

"Let's see…" Gabby swallowed and searched for the right things to say. "I'm sixteen and my favorite color is green," she blurted out, not knowing what else to say.

Their little game of twenty questions lasted them through lunch and well into the mid-afternoon. Gabby had given Spot a little of her personality and Spot got the chance to listen rather than do most of the talking. He spun his empty glass around in his palm while Gabby chatted up a storm about life with her family and the old days. Unlike other girls he had gone out with in the past, he simply sat back in his seat and heard what Gabby had to say. It was pleasant and _she_ was pleasant and it pulled him in closer. She had a charming nature about her. She had this likable charm and it was putting a spell on him.

Gabby looked to the clock on the wall: three thirty. "Oh, we've been here for three hours!"

Spot looked up at the wall as well. "Time flies…"

Just then the door swung open, sounding a small _ding!_ from the bell above it. Ace rushed over to Gabby and Spot, placing his hand on the table's surface in front of Spot, out of breath. "Did ya hear?"

"What?" Spot asked, far beyond irritated.

"Tyce's gone," panted Ace.

Spot rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I got it taken care of, Ace. Spies."

"Oh." Ace straightened out and caught his breath at last. He looked over at Gabby. "And who is this?"

Gabby and Ace stared at each other blankly for a couple of seconds.

"Ace, this is Gabby," Spot introduced.

"Hi," Ace shook her hand weakly and fought back his sneaky, crooked smile. "That short fer anythin'?"

Gabby bit her lip and glared at Ace while trying to hide it and make it subtle. "Gabby."

Acce nodded. "Well, I should get goin'." He held his hand out to Spot, who simply glowered icily at him, and Ace left for the door.

Gabby suppressed a few snickers as Spot sighed heavily.

"Not one 'a my favorites," Spot added once Ace was gone. "But I should get goin' too. I got some business to take care of. I'll see ya again, right?"

"Of course," said Gabby. They both waved a simple goodbye and he laid the money on the table. She watched out the window until Spot was out of sight and she got up from her seat and exited Sonny's.

Her lonely apartment was located not far from the restaurant and only took her a matter of minutes. The sun was at the middle of the blue sky as the light showered the city. Gabby walked with a light bounce in her step as she strolled along the streets. As she came closer to her apartment building she saw Ace standing around the entrance. He waved at once when they saw each other.

"That wasn't awkward," Ace commented upon their meeting at Sonny's.

"I already told you," Gabby began, "I don't want him knowing we know each other. He hates you. No offense."

Ace scoffed. "Fine, fine. Throw away our childhood friendship ovah this! I undastand," he accused in a sarcastic tone of voice. "Ya know, I bet ya parents are lookin' down at ya right now in shame."

Gabby gave him a stern look as Ace looked up to the sky with his hands cupped to the sides of his mouth.

"Hey Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, gimme a sign if Gabby's doin' the right thing by lyin' to him! She just wants in his pants, though. And if ya bump into _my_ folks up there, tell 'em thanks for leavin' me on the streets when I was nine!"

"Ace, stop it!" Gabby pulled his arms down to take the attention from him.

"Just get a move on it, will ya, Gabs? I mean, how hard is Spot to crack?" Ace asked as if he were tired of waiting. "It's fun to fake bein' ya best friend 'n all, but hurry yer ass up already."

Gabby started up the steps to the building's doors. She said goodbye to Ace and traipsed up the four flights of stairs to her one-bedroom apartment. As it sat there the place she now called home was pretty pathetic-looking; the tenants (whom she met casually one day at the park) before her ran into a little trouble with the law and skipped town immediately, leaving her with pieces of furniture. There was the mushy couch that greeted her from across the doorway on the other side of the room, a shelf that contained a fair amount of books, and a modest bed in the bedroom. The couple had asked her if she wanted the apartment and who was she to pass up shelter?

She walked over to the old, dilapidated mirror on the wall and stared back at her reflection. Her response was not one of particular joy. She pitied what looked back at her. What if her parents _were_ ashamed of her for trying to nestle her way into Spot's life? But all she wanted was a little attention from someone to cure her loneliness. Sure, there was Ace, but in the role of best friend, he couldn't fill in the holes that needed so desperately to be filled. She tried to force tears to come to her eyes and a lump to come to her throat. Failed.

_Have you ever taken a good hard look at yourself and thought, "this is your life?"_


	7. Sweet Blush

* * *

The following weeks were uneventful yet filled with anxiety amongst the newsies. Tension was particularly high with Spot and other territories' leaders. On a daily basis a couple of area rulers met at Tibby's in Manhattan to discuss what they heard around their district. They sat in the secluded booth in the back; Spot, Jack, and Buckles from Coney Island. But it seemed that with each passing day the meetings became shorter and shorter. There had been no news of Tyce's whereabouts. Spot and Jack grew more nervous; they had sent out a total of twelve spies throughout the city and when they checked back in, they had no information. 

Every day Spot sold in the morning, watched his boys until the afternoon, ate dinner, and went back to the lodging house. He lay awake in bed for nearly ages, staring up at the ceiling in deep thought. Often times when a man is kicked while he is already down, heavy pondering and contemplation become a priority. Spot's mind was a torrential sea of swarming thoughts. As the outside world faded away, he drifted off into his own state of apprehension and gloom. Mostly he recalled the past and his mistakes, and usually they came in statements beginning with "what if" or "if only." What if he had called for a truce with Queens before the war? If only he had been less proud, things would be better. Brooklyn wouldn't be on high alert and Tyce would not be such a threat. Thoughts such as these consumed his being while he was up on his humble mattress at night and hardly any good came out of them. The past was in the past and there was nothing he could do about it now. The logical thing to do was to move on. Unfortunately Spot was so overwhelmed with such misery, he could barely think clearly.

On occasion, however, Spot got together with Gabby for a stroll around the city or for dinner. For him, Gabby was a pleasant break from the drama drowning his life. They simply enjoyed each other's company and there didn't seem to be any conditions to go along with it. When they were together, Spot escaped and lost himself in his fondness for his new found friend. In his mind, Gabby was the person that was supposed to come along when times were rough and just her presence was needed. Her warm, comfortable, presence. He liked who he was around Gabby; calm, content, and grateful. During their time with one another, things didn't seem quite as big. Issues were not as large and events were not as monumental.

For Gabby, Spot was an enjoyable getaway as well. She didn't have to worry about other things in her life when she was with him. Not only was she attracted to him physically, she was pleasantly surprised when she got to know him. Underneath his façade of pride and arrogance was simply another sixteen-year-old that made her swoon as thoughts of him clouded her mind.

"Now what's this?" Gabby inquired curiously, fiddling with the string to his necklace one evening while walking around the city. She let her finger place with the twine as her other fingers subtly copped a feel at his smooth, bronzed chest. "What's the story behind this thingy?"

Spot pulled out his necklace from underneath his checkered shirt and held the key in the palm of his hand. "Well, I'd hardly call it a thingy."

"Sorry," she laughed under her breath as she traced her fingertips along the smooth edges of the small bronze trinket. Her touch glided away at moments and ran along the inside of his hands.

"When I was little my pop gave this to me. He said it was their key to the house in Ireland before they came ovah here."

"So Conlon's got some Irish in him, does he?" Gabby smiled as she still looked down and ran her fingers over the key once more.

"Let's keep that between you and me," he replied. He let her play with his most cherished possession until her hand fell to her side and he tucked it back safely to his chest. "But there's a little more to it than that."

"Yeah?" She linked her arm with his as she walked leisurely beside him, preparing to hear another one of Spot's stories.

"Tyce actually ripped this from my neck after Queens…that day." He swallowed hard and continued with slight difficulty. "Just stood ovah me and yanked it clear off."

"Wait, _Tyce_ Tyce?" Gabby made a motion with her free arm to symbolize chaos.

Spot laughed. "That's the one."

"How'd you get it back then?"

"This is horrible…" he muttered and rubbed his eyes. "He was walkin' away while I was still on the ground and he turned, laughed, and chucked it back at me." His voice decreased to a weak level.

"But that's good that he gave it back to you—"

"No, it ain't," he interrupted abruptly and defensively. "He was mockin' me, reveling in his victory."

Gabby looked in front of her, afraid to say anything else.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be…sorry," he apologized weakly.

"No, it's fine. It's a sore subject."

"Yeah."

They rounded the corner at which Gabby's apartment was.

"But I swear, right here, Tyce'll get what's comin' to him. No one goes afta my boys and gets away so easily. If I hafta kill him, so be it."

Gabby looked up at his profile, which spoke volumes of vengeance, with widened eyes and intimidation. She bit her lip for a loss of words.

"Sorry," he said, softening a bit more. He twirled Gabby around so that she stood on the bottom step of her apartment steps.

"Don't apologize." She placed her hands on his shoulders while he held loosely onto her hips. "You're cute when you're angry," she joked with a wink as if they were together already

Spot smiled and laughed, a twinge of heat sparking his cheeks.

Gabby gasped. "Did I just make Spot blush!" she teased.

"What? What're ya talkin' about?" Spot beamed against his will more than ever and looked around him.

"Aw, I did!" She brought her hands up to hold his heated cheeks. "Say it! 'Gabby, you made me, Spot Conlon, blush'!"

"Ya're crazy," he said through his smushed cheeks. "Ya don't know what ya're talkin' about, goil."

"Say it!" Gabby smiled at her blatant control over Brooklyn's emotions.

"Nope," he mumbled while shaking his head. Gabby squinted and turned to her head to the side as if trying to hear him say it.

"I don't hear you, Spot!"

"Fine!" he said in defeat. "Gabby, ya made me…Spot Conlon, blush."

Gabby loosened her hold on his face in satisfaction. "There ya go."

"Damn, woman." He rubbed his smiling, sore cheeks.

"Poor baby," she said sarcastically and smoothed her delicate fingertips against his gorgeous face as if tracing every line of it. "But seriously…you want to avenge your boys. I think that's sweet."

"Oh, 'sweet', right? First ya make me blush, then ya tellin' me I'm sweet!"

"Yep." Gabby smiled proudly with her lips. They looked at each other for moments and gazed longingly. Gabby sure as hell didn't want to leave, but she feared she might lose the moment's perfection if she went any further. "Well, I should go on up." She slid her arms around his neck into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her waist firmly as he lifted her from the steps and twirled her around. Gabby let out a small squeal of delight as Spot spun her around and got her back to Earth.

"Have a good night," he said and pulled away.

"Bye sweetie," she teased as she started up the steps once more.

A grin made its way to Spot's face and he shook his head. "Goodbye, Gabby."

"Sweet dreams!" she called while opening the old wooden door.

"Very funny!" Spot called back with a wave, and he set off down the street back to the lodging house.

While leisurely making his way back home, things were not quite as bad. Sure, things were shitty. But they were bound to get better, right? Spot liked to think so at the moment. A euphoric state seemed to be the result of spending time with Gabby and he liked it. He liked being this happy. He liked Gabby.

A few of Spot's boys congregated around the entrance door of the lodging house. Awaiting him was finally news about Tyce.


	8. Burned

* * *

"What's goin' on?" Spot asked as he neared the lodging house entrance. 

Bolt and Thompson quit pacing and turned around the face Spot. A couple of boys sat on the steps in the shadows cast by the building of the late evening and their faces were only just recognizable.

"Got news about Tyce," Thompson informed in a tone that did not suggest any alarm or tension.

"And?" Spot asked anxiously.

"He's back in Queens, I can tell ya that," he reassured. He walked to the brown brick wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest in the process.

Spot furrowed his eyebrows at the apathy everyone was showing. He could not gather from Thompson's voice if this news was good or bad. Bolt and the others, Glover and Ace, sat lazily on the steps with emotionless expressions.

"Is that it?" inquired Spot, expecting a little more information than that.

"Well," Bolt started as he picked himself up from the steps. "Glover here got some info from some 'a the spies in Harlem."

Again Spot couldn't decide how to react from Bolt's indifferent attitude. He stepped closer toward the group. "And?"

The other four boys shifted their gazes to one another in hesitation. Spot was about to speak up until Bolt interrupted by jerking his head to the side, indicating that he wanted to talk with him in private. They stepped a few feet from the group and faced each other, Bolt adjusting his hat and Spot looking at him rather sternly.

"What the hell is goin' on?" Spot asked irately yet still in a level voice.

"All right, ya gotta promise ya won't hit me," Bolt started. "Couple 'a boys been tellin' me you'se seein' someone."

"So?"

"So they'se also been tellin' me that ya been talkin' to her about all 'a this. About the war, Tyce, and what ya're plannin' to do about him."

Spot scoffed and took a few steps around, pulling out a cigarette and some matches. He looked over at the other newsies, who immediately turned their heads once Spot looked at them. "Got boys spyin' on me, Bolt? What the hell?"

Bolt sighed. "No spies, Spot. A few guys've been sayin' they keep seein' you with her and ya're always in some kinda deep conversation. I know you ain't talkin' about religion or politics, and you two ain't in some kinda deep relationship or nothin'. Ya can't talk about this shit with anyone. It's too risky."

Spot drew in deeply on his cigarette and blew the wispy cloud of smoke slowly out of his mouth. Once more he looked at who was sitting at the doorstep. "Did Ace tell ya about her?"

"Matter 'a fact he did," Bolt answered harshly.

"Well, ya don't gotta worry about me divulgin' any 'war secrets' to her." Spot pressed the end of his cigarette between his fingers out of frustration and he was getting angrier by the second. "We just talk once in a while."

"I got ya word on it?" Bolt eyed him intently with locked eyes, hardly believing him.

"Yeah, whateva, ya don't gotta worry about it!" Spot was becoming increasingly aggravated by the lack of trust going around. He decided not to let Bolt burn him anymore about Gabby and made his way back over to the other boys.

"What'd they tell ya, Glover?" he asked while standing in front of him and smoking frequently.

Glover darted his eyes to Bolt as if seeing if it was all right to discuss what he knew from the spies. Clearly this topic of Spot's duty to keep Brooklyn's business between the newsies was not a new discussion.

"Hey!" Spot snapped. "Ya talkin' to me, not Bolt! What did the spies say?"

"Two of 'em were in Harlem," Glover replied quickly, "when they were talkin' to their leader, Jumper, pretendin' to be new guys. Jumper was tellin' 'em all about Harlem when Tyce walked into the room. Jumper told 'em to leave so they can talk, so our boys hid outside and listened to their conversation. They said Tyce and Jumper were talkin' about all kinds 'a confidential shit. They mentioned Manhattan and Coney Island and Brooklyn. Tyce mentioned ya name a bit, then the spies were caught before they could hear what Tyce wanted to do. Made it home a'right though."

Spot stood motionless with his mouth slightly agape and cigarette still burning between his fingers. "Let me sit on that fer a minute."

Bolt leaned against a wooden pole. The boys looked to one another as Spot threw down his cigarette and sat on a wooden step, his hands running over his head in thought. Thompson stepped from the wall and kicked a pebble around in waiting to see what Spot had to say. Glover twiddled his thumbs around while Ace started to whistle annoyingly.

Spot looked around with concerned eyes. He drummed his fingertips against his knee as the information began to digest. Ace's whistling picked up. Spot certainly did not expect that much new to be brought back so suddenly. Ace sat behind him as his irritatingly merry tune buzzed within his ears.

"I thought we was good with Harlem," Thompson thought out loud. "What's up with that?"

"Yeah, unless there's somethin' you ain't tellin' us, Conlon," Bolt suggested daringly.

Spot got to his feet and turned around to Bolt while Ace's noise-making did not subside. "Shut ya mouth, Bolt! I ain't holdin' anythin' from ya. Why would I?" He turned behind him. "Ace, stop!"

Ace looked at him with his lips still formed into an O-shape and he resorted to small, clicking sounds in his mouth. Spot tried to gather up an insult but was blocked by the irritation Ace was giving at the moment.

"Why is he here?" Spot asked angrily while motioning to Ace.

"The point, Spot," Bolt started, letting go of the issue about Ace, "is that you'se been spendin' an awful lot 'a time with that girl and it makes us think you ain't just talkin' about…whateva normal people talk about."

Spot rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Let that go! I haven't been tellin' her anythin' I thought would be too much. I like seein' Gabby. Get over it."

Ace's clicking noised slowed as the boys stared at Spot, then quickened again as Thompson stood closer to the house. Spot glanced icily at Ace and back to Bolt again.

"A'right, Spot," Thompson said in apology. "We was wrong."

Damn straight ya were," answered Spot as he shook Thompson's hand. He held his out to Bolt in hopes of a response. "A'right?"

Bolt looked at him hesitantly. Reluctantly he outstretched his hand and they shook on it. "I'm just warnin' ya, Conlon: watch what ya say now to otha people. Not just girls."

"Fine." Spot gave up as he turned back to Ace and socked him in the face for being such a nuisance.

The other boys blurted out in laughter as Ace fell from the step to the ground on his back.

"Hey!" Ace said, getting up and rubbing his cheek. "What was that for…"

Spot took back his seat on the steps next to Glover. "Ace, just go to bed."

"Nice one, Conlon," Glover complimented, giving him another cigarette. "Sorry for doubtin' ya."


	9. Blue Eyes

* * *

Gabby stood before her bed with her suitcase open on the blankets. After several weeks, she figured it would be best to embrace her new life and sort everything out. Her different outfits, which consisted of a few skirts, shirts, and dresses, were all bundled up within the compact space of her suitcase. Whenever she changed and washed her clothes, she simply stuffed them back into the square box on the floor. It was as if she needed to be going somewhere soon, but she wasn't going to move or go on vacation. She was simply having difficulty getting used to this whole idea of living on her own. 

One by one Gabby laid the suitcase's contents onto the white bedspread. Although clearly wrinkled, she was proud of the clothes' cleanliness since she was new at this whole taking-care-of-yourself business. Sure she had helped out with chores at home, but it was mostly her mother that did all the laundry. The four skirts, each a different color, four button-down shirts, and two dresses were smoothed separately and placed into the small dresser in her bedroom. Luckily, Ace and a few of his non-newsie friends had been frequently running things from her old home to her new one. The dresser was a battle to convince Ace to retrieve, but he had agreed reluctantly. Ace had also brought other things to set up house: kitchen supplies, living room accessories, and any memorable item he could find. Fortunately they had saved these before they were thrown out.

Thinking about Ace's delivering things to her apartment made her think of Spot and how she didn't want Spot knowing of their friendship. Ace (actually named Alex) was the only child of Gabby's parents' best friends, so naturally Ace and Gabby grew up together. But she knew of Spot's hatred toward Ace. How was she to tell him?_ Hi Spot, this is my best friend, the newsie that you hate almost as much as Tyce. _Nope; Gabby wasn't going to risk that.

Thinking of Spot, she remembered that he was going to stop by later in the afternoon. She skipped over to the mirror in the living room and looked into the reflection. Gabby ran her fingers through her brown hair and sorted out the tangles. Her face was pretty pale and drab. The rosy color in her cheeks had vanished. Her eyes were dark green and still didn't stand out quite as much, in her opinion. She hurried into her room, retrieved a small pack of makeup, and stood before the mirror once more. She took a bit of red and blended it into her cheeks and took some dark makeup to line her eyes with lightly. Usually she didn't wear makeup on ordinary days, but she suddenly felt the urge to today.

Just as Gabby was finished primping, a round of courteous knocks came to the door. She scooted over and opened it happily.

"'Aftanoon," Spot greeted with a simple tip of his hat.

"Hey!" Gabby swung open the door as she gave him a tight hug and he walked through. "How's everything going?"

"Oh, ya know…" Spot trailed off as he took his hat in his hands and spun it around his fingers, looking around her home with pleasant liking. "So this is home?"

"This is home."

"I like it," he nodded and turned to face her. "A lot."

"Thanks."

Spot stepped toward her so that they were but inches apart. His eyes looked down into hers as he smiled tenderly. His hands blindly found their way to Gabby's fingers that hung loosely at her sides, and he took hold of them. "And I like you. A lot."

"I like you too. A lot," she repeated through a smile. She rested the side of her head on his shoulder as their hands held each other at the sides. "Everything all right?"

Spot hesitated for a moment. "Is it that obvious?" He pulled away and intertwined his fingers with hers.

"I know you better than you think you do," whispered Gabby while looking up at him through the tops of her eyes and winked.

"Yeah, that's probably right." He took in a deep breath and looked around. "More problems with the boys. This time its Bolt, though."

"Well, let's talk about it." Gabby pulled him over to the couch and plopped him down.

"No, we always talk about my problems," he said, getting to his feet.

Gabby stood up. "It's _fine_!" She placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him back onto the couch so that he sat beside her once more.

Spot's eyes widened at Gabby's roughness. "Okay…"

"Bolt is the best friend," Gabby recalled to herself. "What happened?"

"Basically, to sum it up, he doesn't trust me. None 'a the guys do now," he answered.

"Why not?"

"We got some news 'bout Tyce and they think I been runnin' my mouth." Spot shook his head slightly to himself. "Bullshit."

Gabby furrowed her eyebrows. "Running your mouth to whom? The other boys? Me?" she asked curiously.

Spot looked at her and nodded. "You. It's so stupid; don't worry about it. I told 'em I could trust you and you ain't a spy or nothin'," he laughed.

"Me a spy?" Gabby snorted. "That's funny. I've never even known about all this newsie stuff up until I met you. Do they not want me to see you, though?"

"I don't give a shit what they think."

A simple grin crossed Gabby's face. "That's good, I guess. What about Tyce? You said something about him."

Spot turned to her and smiled. "Nothin'. It ain't important. Let's not talk about that. I ain't in the mood to be all whiney."

Gabby laughed and leaned her head on Spot's shoulder, scooting closer while he wrapped his arm around her closely. "I never thought you were whiney," she told him.

"Then, ya're very patient," he joked. "I dunno how ya put up with all my problems."

"Oh, it's not bad. I told you I liked hearing about them. You lead an exciting life, Mr. Conlon."

"As do you."

Gabby laughed. "If you call living by yourself without anything to do 'exciting'."

"But you _love_ spending time with _me_, right? That's the exciting part," he teased arrogantly.

Gabby sat up straight and crossed her arms over her chest in playful defiance. "Absolutely not!" she answered sarcastically. "You're not more exciting than I am."

Spot clutched his heart. "Aw, that hurts, Gabs…why ya gotta be so mean?" He looked up at her with puppy dog eyes. "I mean, that was harsh." He pouted his lips.

Gabby giggled against her will and held his chin in her hand. "You're so pathetic."

Quickly, Spot grabbed her arm and pulled her so that she faced him while lying across his lap. With a wink, he added, "you like it, though."

"Not true!" Gabby replied. "I can do better!" She got up so that she sat across his legs and put her arm around his shoulder.

"Ya can, can ya?" Spot asked daringly. "Like who? Ace?"

Gabby's nerves raked through her entire body as her cheeks heated up and she bit her tongue before saying anything. She needed a quick recovery before everything came spilling out.

"No, silly. Like my old ballet instructor," she saved as she hopped up and stood before him, standing on her tip toes.

Spot looked at her quizzically. "Ya used to do ballet?"

Gabby nodded. "You want to see me dance?" she asked.

Spot slowly smiled as he watched her adoringly. "I would love to see you dance."

Gabby proceeded to move her hands around gracefully while going into different positions, naming each one humorously and recalling what she knew from a while ago. Spot gazed at her as she twirled about slowly and danced around with incredible ease, giggling here and there and messing up plenty of times. How could Bolt as him to leave this? She was amazing and charming and lovable. She was the one constant thing in his life at the moment. She was all he needed as far as Bolt was concerned. This was where he wanted to be.

Gabby completely a successful spin on her toes when she ended up looking at him to the side. She beckoned him with her thin index finger. Spot raised his eyebrows.

"Come on, Brooklyn," she enticed.

Spot grinned and looked around, hesitant to get up. "Well, I certainly can't do that…" He rose from the couch.

"That's all right."

Gabby gently grabbed his arms and pulled him toward her. Spot had done _this_ before; he was no amateur. He may not have been a ballerina but he knew how to slow dance. Without having to think, Spot placed one hand at the small of Gabby's back and the other linked itself with her fingers. They stared into one another's eyes as they glided slowly and ever so elegantly within their little dancing area. Spot let go of her back and twirled her around as she used his hand as a pivot.

Gabby locked her gaze right back to Spot's eyes which were now a lightened shade of deep blue. She moved in closer so that she just touched his chest with her own, her one arm curled around his shoulder. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself away from those eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes that said so much about him; that held his deepest and most immortal secrets; that cast such an agonizingly wonderful spell upon her with their silver and cerulean hues. Gabby felt her knees weaken until Spot caught her from falling to the floor, breathing a laugh.

"So Brooklyn _can_ dance," Gabby said quietly.

"As much as ya'd like to think so, ya haven't got me figured out completely," he smirked, yet in a devastatingly charming way.

"I guess not. It seems like Conlon's still got a few tricks up his sleeve."

The temptation to look away from those blues of his was greater than ever and Gabby was fighting hard. Spot pulled her close to him enough so that she was pressed against his stomach, chest, legs.

"You underestimated me," Spot stated in a hushed tone.

Gabby kept her breathing level as they ceased to sway back and forth, but merely stand there close and comfortably. "I think I did."

Spot twirled her one last time and dipped her over his knee, catching her with his hand upon her back. He stared into her sparkling green eyes for a moment and paused. It then hit him that he could do this for the rest of his life.

Gabby was gone in his eyes. She was lost within them completely and there was no escape, as much as she'd hoped there was. Spot curled up one corner of his lips and dove in to kiss her. At first Gabby was hesitant, but immediately threw caution to the wind as she placed her hand behind Spot's neck, losing herself to the moment.


	10. The Manhattan Leader

* * *

Spot and Gabby had a sleepover that night. In fact, they had four sleepovers that week. Unlike other ones Spot had had in the past, though, they actually slept. Seriously. They had dinner, talked late into the night, and went to sleep. Clothes on. Little bit of cuddling. Good-night. Spot didn't feel the absolute need for the one-night fling with Gabby. And as he awoke at dawn on Thursday morning with Gabby sleeping soundly next to him, her mouth slightly open and hair a mess over her pillow, Spot liked it. 

The sun crept into the bedroom through the thin white curtains and cast warmth on parts of the bed. Spot yawned as he stared up at the ceiling tiredly. He had to wake up soon to get to the distribution place, and lying there, blinking slowly and drifting back to sleep was not helping. Were there any other jobs that did not require getting up as early as humanly possible? Maybe a career change was in order for him. Then again, it would be bad if he just quit in the middle of this conflict with Queens. Very bad.

As Spot sat up and stretched his arms out, Gabby began to stir on the other side of the bed. She started mumbling nonsense that Spot could not understand and flailing her hands around, which he found quite humorous. Spot bit his lip hard to hold in chuckles as he watched her talk gibberish. It wasn't until Gabby began turning her head around quickly that Spot placed a hand on her shoulder to nudge her back to reality.

"W-What?" asked a very dazed Gabby. She blinked open and focused in on Spot who was snickering silently. "What?"

"Ya okay?" Spot inquired. "You was dreamin' or sleep-talkin' a second ago."

Gabby sat up and looked around her. "Oh, all right," she said and fell back to the pillow.

Spot turned to the side of the bed and slipped his feet into his boots, tying them securely. His navy blue shirt lay folded neatly (thanks to Gabby) on top of the dresser and he slipped his arms through the sleeves, watching Gabby and wanting more than ever to stay in bed with her all day long.

"Where are you going?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"I gotta go rejoin the human race again," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Gabby's blanketed hip.

"No," she protested simply, opening her eyes groggily. Her fingers felt around his collarbone, found the chain to his necklace, and pulled down so that he ended up lying next to her. "You're staying right here."

"Am I, now?" Spot asked through a pleasant grin. "Ya just gonna keep me here foreva?"

Sleepiness took over Gabby once more as her eyelids fluttered to a close and back again. "That's exactly my evil plot," she said with low energy and verve.

"Sorry, babe…I really gotta go work," Spot replied reluctantly and fighting his own urge to not go.

"No," she groaned, stretching it out more than it needed to be. She grabbed his arm tightly with an intensely firm grip. "Please stay."

"Ow. Okay, let go." Spot laughed under his breath as he pried Gabby's fingers from his forearm, watching his whitened skin turn back to its normal color. He took her hand and pecked it tenderly. "I'll come back afta mornin' edition."

Gabby stuck out her tongue at him and blew, creating a childish noise that made him chuckle. "Fine."

Spot finished buttoning his shirt and got to his feet. After pulling up his suspender straps, he bent down and gave Gabby a couple of innocent kisses. Running a hand through his sandy blonde hair in an attempt to untangle it, he made his way out of the tiny apartment.

The long and narrow hallway was almost vacant except for the few tenants making their miserable way to their own jobs. Spot strolled down the brown wooden corridor, politely smiling as he passed Gabby's neighbors. It was nearly unusual and quite awkward; for one to see the fearless leader of the Brooklyn newsies smile at strangers was not at all typical. For most of his life he was viewed as strong, honorable, and mysterious. But as he hopped (yes, hopped) down the creaky old staircase, peple saw a foreign side of this sixteen-year-old who had battled every day of his life as a newsie; there was not hint of a traumatic history or rough lifestyle. There was subtle "bounce" in his step and smile to his lips. A look of contentment took over his usually stone-cold face. He was happy, and in such a way that surprised even Spot himself; so happy that it scared him.

Although in the heart of the industrial city that had plenty of air pollution, Spot breathed in and let the oxygen fill his lungs. To him, it was all clear. For moments he stood at the entrance of the apartment building and digested the scenery. This place belonged to Spot Conlon.

And then there were the occasional smudges in the picture-perfect idea: as Spot strolled along the streets leisurely, Ace appeared at this side from out of nowhere.

"Well, don't _you_ look happy," Ace greeted in mockery.

Spot closed his eyes and gathered his patience. Perhaps he could just take his slingshot and lodge a marble between Ace's eyes? Then again, the day was only young. He bit his tongue and nodded in response.

"What's goin' on? What's with the happy shit?" Ace questioned while swinging his lanky arms at his side as he ambled down the walk with Spot. His face suddenly grew into that crooked smile of his as he got in front of Spot and walked backward to keep up with his pace. "You screwed Tyce Nichols' goil, didn't ya?" he said in sick amusement.

Spot looked at him strangely and shook his head in a way that begged for his reasoning behind Ace's question. "No." He stepped to the left for a clearer pathway.

"Aw, come on, Conlon!" Ace playfully jerked at Spot's arms, though Spot pushed him off at every attempt. "Ya got some didn't ya? Ya got that look that says ya just landed a virgin one."

Once more, Spot struggled to maintain his patience. His jaw clenched while he strained his eyes to focus ahead of him. He even subconsciously grabbed a hold of his slingshot that sat securely in the band of his pants. _Too early, too early._ He moved his hand away.

"No, Ace," Spot finally answered.

"Ah," he gave up, "just as well. You'se were with that one chick, ain't ya? What's her name, Gabby? The one Bolt and Thompson don't wantcha seein'."

Spot held his breath in as the irritation for Ace began to rise. Ace was like a pest; he got under your skin and picked incessantly until you finally cracked. With stiffened arms and jaws, he forced a smirk and turned to Ace. "Ain't none 'a your business."

Ace furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if psychologically challenging Spot with skepticism. "A'right," he said, "just don't want ya to give away Brooklyn for her."

Spot continued to walk and made contored faces to himself along the way. The irritation was reaching the top as the conversation switched to his relationship with Gabby. _Resist the slingshot, Conlon…_

"From what I'se seen, she ain't worth it eitha," muttered Ace under his breath that even seemed crooked as well.

That was it. Though he avoided going for the slingshot, he resorted to good, old-fashioned offense and simply grabbed Ace by the collar in front of his ace. He held him up with tired arms and white knuckles.

"You shut the hell up," Spot growled, his previous contentment vanishing from his face for the time being.

Ace kicked his feet that dangled just above the ground. He held a look of helplessness as he grabbed Spot's arms in pleading to let him go. Stuttered words that were incomplete squeaked from his mouth.

"Now, I could very well do this all day," continued Spot, "but I'm gonna let ya down if ya swear ya won't eva mention gabby again in ya life, y'hear?"

"Y-Ye…" Ace coughed.

"Yes, sir?" Spot implied as his tone of voice elevated.

"Y…Yes, sir!" Ace wheezed.

"I ain't yellin' at ya," Spot said with his normal voice returning, "I'm just puttin' ya in ya place." He let go of Ace and watched him stumble to the ground, coughing and rubbing his neck and collarbone. Spot bent down and slapped Ace on the cheek gently with a harsher motive.

"Why don't ya take the day off, Ace," Spot suggested derisively with a smirk.

"But I—"

"Take the day off," he interrupted in finalization.

Ace clenched his jaw and gave a hard stare to Spot who stood above him. But as soon as they locked gazes, Spot with a stronger glare, Ace huffed briefly and got up to walk in the other direction. Spot sighed with relief and began to make his way home.

Within viewing distance of the lodging house, Spot noticed a group of boys gathered around the doorway, talking anxiously and running around to each other. A seemingly dramatic issue looked as if it had risen, and made Spot quicken his pace. The insides of his stomach began to churn as they ran through possible scenarios in his mind, all of which were not pleasant. The mumbled voices that ran together as one began to get louder as he approached it. Bolt suddenly pushed open the door and the boys quieted. All looked to him with hopeful expressions that poured into Bolt, who wore a look of part- shock and part- determination. Bolt's brown eyes scanned over the congregation until they targeted Spot who was trotting over from the left.

"Conlon!" called Bolt as he pushed his way down the steps and onto the street.

Spot sped up to meet Bolt faster. At first, before seeing the group of newsies at the entrance, he had thought Bolt would be giving him hell about his absence. He sorted out words to excuse his not being there, but now they seemed to be gone from his mind; all he could concentrate on was what may have happened. As they rushed closer, Spot could note the infinite amount of worry that took over his face.

"First, I'se sorry fer not bein' here," Spot apologized flatly as they were standing front of each other now. "I was with Gabby and and—"

"No need for explainin'," Bolt interrupted as he held up his hand to stop him. "Ya gotta see this," he continued with urgency in his voice.

Bolt turned and Spot followed closely as they raced toward the lodging house. Spot's heart pounded rapidly as the steady, quick beats of his feet against the ground resounded in his ears. Something was clearly not right. But what? Bolt shoved boys out of the way and yanked them back until they were bounding up the narrow winding staircase to the bunkroom.

Immediately the pits of Spot's stomach began to plummet once they entered the tense atmosphere. With only three boys occupying the room, tension filled the air with concern and anxiety. Over by his and Bolt's bunk he noticed a boy of his age sitting at the edge of the mattress, head slumped below his neck and fingers entwined with one another. Thompson leaned against the edge of another bed with his hand draped over his eyes, not revealing whether or not he was actually teary-eyed or not. Standing at the wall and staring blankly out the window with heavy Italian eyes was Racetrack Higgins, voice of his usual vitality and liveliness. With Racetrack's presence and the indication of a red bandana tied around the boy's neck on the bed, Spot could only assume that the depressive teenager was none other than Jack Kelly.

"What happened?" Spot inquired in a low tone while making his way slowly toward the other boys, the creaking floorboards sounding louder than ever under his step.

Thompson removed his hand from his face and looked back down to the ground quickly without haste. But Spot could tell that he was not crying; he should know that in the first place. Racetrack continued to look out the window but readjusted his stance and put his hands in his pockets. His expression of shocked misery and woe did not promise that the answer to Spot's question was a positive one. Finally, Jack lifted his head. The looked in which he possessed scared Spot; his face was pale as if he had seen a ghost, and his eyes were red and sore. Dark circles formed underneath his eyes.

"Hey Spot," Jack replied weakly and let his hands apart from each other to allow them to dangle limply from his arms.

Spot turned to Bolt beside him with a ruffled brow and look of bewilderment. All he needed was a simple response as to what had happened, and he knew that it was not easy in the least to tell.

"Somethin' happened in Manhattan last night," Jack stated miserably. "Blink was shot."

The suspicions to the type of news Spot was going to receive was correct. He let his bottom lip detach from the upper as the news settled in. Silence screamed through the room and bounced off the walls mercilessly. Spot searched for words until the shock had absorbed itself in his system. Kid Blink. Had been shot. Now he wanted answers. He took a seat across from the saddened newsboy from uptown and asked fro more detail.

Spot rubbed his throbbing forehead painfully as he looked around to each of the boys. If it hadn't been for the respectable pride in which Jack carried, the Manhattan leader would have broken down, Spot was certain. The look in his eyes was painful to see and even worse as Spot darted his vision around at the sad faces. Amongst the gloomy thoughts that clouded his mind, Spot forgot to ask the important question as to who was behind the murder.

"There's more," Racetrack added and took his hand out of his pocket. Spot watched as h noted Race held a folded piece of paper within his tight grasp. He handed it to Spot and returned his hands to the safety of his pockets.

Spot paused while the paper sat between his index finger and thumb. A part of him, a large part of him, did not want to read its contents. But his duty to his allies made the paper unfold within his grasp. The messy yet legible writing sprang from the paper and shook Spot's nerves with vengeance:

"_It ain't just Brooklyn and Queens now._

_Make sure Brooklyn knows: it ain't ovah."_

_-Tyce_"

"Oh god…" Spot responded in silent shock. He got to his feet as his hold upon the note strengthened and the old, familiar hatred that had recently been replaced with such depression started to flood back to him with greater force, tenfold. His arms burned with clenched muscles as he threw the letter to the ground.

With rage and malice consuming his entire being, Spot dropped to his knees and let out a painfully loud yell that was powerful enough to shake the whole of New York.


	11. The Guilt of Innocence

* * *

"For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born into Eternal Life. Amen." 

As the priest completed the prayer, he bowed his ever sympathetic face for a moment of silence. He clutched the Bible within his hands as they lowered in front of him, all the while holding back a tear and keeping the lump in his throat down. These were the worst. Not but a week ago did two boys, each dressed in well-worn and dirty clothing which shouted that they were orphans, walk into his church to discuss funeral preparations. They came with pockets full of petty money that he was sure had been collected from the boys' friends, and asked if he would perform a funeral for a deceased friend, a friend that had fallen to the dangers of New York's deprived youth.

The money they had was nowhere near enough to cover the costs. It did not even come close. But the priest looked into the swollen eyes of the boys and agreed, explaining that what they had would be put to good use. There was no way he could turn down a service for them—they were just kids. They were not guilty of this life, and, in fact, it should be society to pay them. The only thing they were guilty of was their innocence.

Gabby securely linked her arm with Spot's as the wind whipped a flyaway piece of hair in front of her eyes. If she had the ability to spout tears, she would. If she could get that trembled sobbing to surface, she would. As hard as she tried, though, nothing came out. No outward sign of crying at all. But on the inside, her heart ached terribly as she scanned over the group of boys that surrounded the buried, dirt-covered casket. The weak were in the back, wiping tear tracks from their cheeks frequently.

The strong planted their feet into the cool, hard ground. Eyes fixed upon the casket. Hands placed stiffly in their pockets. There was no indication of human emotion in their faces, but they were not fooling anyone. Gabby could hear them crying inside, louder than those in the back.

The priest nodded as, slowly-but-surely, the crowd of thirty or so newsies dispersed. The breeze of May whirled around in a fashion that depicted the feelings felt by everyone; sharp, edgy, and angry. No one quite felt this emotion more, though, than Spot. His chest compressed and suffocated him. Pains in his mouth heightened from his jaws being clenched so during the service. His gaze locked itself at the mound of dirt over the rectangular wooden box that contained yet another who had been killed at Brooklyn's expense.

Gabby buried her head into Spot's shoulder with comforting attempt. He had not moved since they got there and her presence had brought him back.

"Thanks fer comin," Spot told her quietly. "Really. It means a lot." He turned to her and took his hands from his pockets to link them between Gabby's lace-covered fingers.

"I know it does," she answered sympathetically while looking up into his saddened eyes; they had gotten worse. "I'm so sorry, Spot. Truly, I am."

"Thanks…" he replied and looked around him. "It's startin' again, Gabby."

Gabby bit her lip for something to say. When her parents had died she knew exactly what she wanted to hear from other people, but now that she was here she had nothing to say. And she and Spot were always so good at talking.

Spot turned back to her. "I don't think I can go back with ya today. I gotta stay with the boys."

"I understand. Don't worry about it." Gabby moved in and embraced Spot tightly. From where she stood, she could tell she should not let go just yet. There was a sense of urgency from Spot that did not permit her to let go. She understood the importance of this simple act of a mere hug. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

Spot pulled back just his head so that he looked down at her. "I hope so." He kissed her on the lips for moments and they parted.

Blink's being murdered was more than just a deceased friend; with Tyce's note left on the body, it only opened the gates to a massive issue: another territory war. It was not just two boroughs battling it out for pride anymore. Tyce had struck Brooklyn's closest ally, Manhattan. With that strike being made, Brooklyn and Queens were not the only ones that would be fighting.

Racetrack set the note of warning at the center of the old wooden table in the bunkroom of Brooklyn. "So boys, what do we plan on doin' about this?"

They boys stared at the uncrumbled piece of paper, that had previously been smashed into a ball by Spot, as they removed their suit jackets, lit up their cigarettes, and got comfortable. It would be a long discussion.

"Clearly Tyce is playing dirty this time," David Jacobs stated as he put his brown cap upon the splintered table surface. "Killing someone's ally during peacetime doesn't exactly say 'fair'."

"No shit, Dave," Spot retorted scathingly as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest so that his well-defined biceps seemed bigger. "We already know that. He may not be as dirty as some, but he's still a shit to deal with."

David bit his tongue and fought the urge to lash out against Spot for being so short to answer. But he considered where he was at and swallowed it down.

"He didn't do this before with us," Bolt added. "Last time, we'se had a war council an' everythin'. It was respectable then. I say we strike 'em back." He threw a blown-out match to the table with frustration and exhaled a strong wips of smoke. His eyes fixed upon the note before him while his cigarette shook in between his dirty fingers.

"I second that," Jack responded with a combination of melancholy and anger in his voice. As if it was strangling him, he loosened his red bandana quickly. "That son of a bitch don't deserve to live," he added in a low voice that accentuated his point of rage.

Thompson rose up from his chair and began pacing around, something he tended to do in stressful situations. "I agree with ya, Jack, but we gotta be smart. I don't want 'im to live just as much as you do, but we can't go slaughterin' all 'a Queens. It'd be a massacre."

Jack snorted childishly and looked to the side. Under his breath he muttered, "how's about I kill on 'a _your_ best friends and see how you'se react."

Thompson stared wide-eyed at him offensively and Spot immediately stood up, the chair being him falling back at the push of his legs. The cloud of smoke ceased to swirl around above them but simply hover with tension, as Bolt, David, and Racetrack awaited a response from Spot in disbelief that Jack Kelly dared make that comment.

Jack's guilty eyes traveled to Spot's locked and fuming features. "Spot, I didn't mean dat—"

"Damn straight ya didn't," Spot interrupted with a pointed finger. "How 'bout we stick all 'a _your_ brothers into a battle and see who makes it out alive, hm?"

"Conlon—" Bolt tried to calm.

"Or betta yet, let's have Manhattan fight this thing entirely separate from Brooklyn! We'll fight our own battles and you'se can have yah revenge all ya want. Do me a favor, though, and tell me who survives!" he shouted angrily.

"A'right—" Jack attempted.

"No! It ain't a'right, Jack! Ya think yah so fuckin' safe in Manhattan. Don't got any enemies, leadahs to worry about er nothin'. Ovah here we gotta fight harder against guys like Tyce. Don't go sayin' things yah know nothin' about!"

Silence plagued the room once more as Jack now slowly got to his feet with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

"I may not be used to this shit on a daily basis, Brooklyn, but ya gotta undastand my anger with this," Jack replied. "Sorry I don't know nothin' about wars or anythin' 'a that sort, but don't go bringin' down our loss just 'cause it ain't a big deal to you!"

"Ya're pushin' it, Kelly…" Spot growled. "Don't go puttin' words in my mouth. Ya're _this close_ to fightin' this thing on yah own." Spot turned on his heel and kicked his chair out of his way, sending a loud crash to fill the room. He clenched his arm muscles and huffed over to the window.

"Hey!" David intervened and got to his feet. "Enough! If we can't even discuss this together then it's a lost cause. The last thing we need right now is to fight Queens separately."

There was hesitation as the two leaders said nothing. Spot spit to the floor and shook his head.

"Spot, get back here and talk with us about what we're going to do," said David.

Racetrack raised his eyebrows at the surprising defiance of authority David had shown. He turned his head to face Spot in anticipation as did the rest.

After moments of immature ignorance, Spot picked up his cane that sat near his bed and stomped back to David, holding the cane high on its rod and pointing it in David's face."

"Ya don't ever tell me what to do, David," he told him. He pursed his lips and grabbed the fallen down chair. Propping it back to its normal position, he sat back down forcefully.

David could have smiled to himself at how Spot followed his orders and said not to boss him around. Clearly the Brooklyn leader had denial issues.

* * *

As soon as Gabby left the safety of Spot's loving arms, she set off to her intended place to be. Her feet paced through the weeping mass of boys and girls through the cemetery as she looked to the ground the entire time. 

Ace waited at the designated meeting place impatiently. He rocked back and forth between his heels and toes at the corner a block away from where they had just been. As soon as he spotted Gabby, he threw his hands up to question her whereabouts.

"Finally!" he said while she jogged towards him. "We'se gonna be late now."

Gabby rushed forward and joined Ace's side as they hurried through the crowded streets. Ace grabbed Gabby's upper arm and pulled her faster along, looking back behind to see whether or not gabby had been followed.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Gabby asked him with an unsure voice. "I mean…"

"No, I know what ya're talkin' about," Ace finished for her as he practically dragged her up the steps to the recently shut-down factory. "And I wasn't expectin' that neither."

The large, open building that had barely survived a fire and had the blackened wood to prove it, was nearly a month old as the government had yet decided what to do with its useless space and messy atmosphere. Until then, it was the perfect meeting place for the underclass of Brooklyn. They hurried up the decrepit staircase and into an empty room, panting and catching their breath. They took a seat on the dusty floorboards and waited.

Then, out of the darkened hallway came the repeated sounds of footsteps along the corridor. Gabby and Ace both got up again and dusted off their clothes. Gabby sighed as they watched him come in through the doorframe and into the light.

"_Finally_," said Tyce Nichols in his malicious voice. "I was beginnin' to think you two had turned against me."


	12. Espionage

"Turn against you?" Ace scoffed. "That's crazy, Tyce. Ya don't gotta worry about that."

Tyce stepped further into the room as his shoes made footprints on the dust-covered floorboards. From the look of his cold gray eyes that served as the only miniscule gateway to his thoughts and closed-book personality, Gabby and Ace's tardy appearance did not seem quite the issue they had imagined. Then again, Tyce was infamous for surprises.

"Well, good," Tyce replied as the floor creaked eerily underneath his lean yet muscular weight. "I'd hate fer you'se two to suddenly have a change 'a heart. Or even worse, get caught." His voice in the last statement had a subtle questioning vibe as his eyes burned into them.

Ace gulped and his fingers began to fidget slightly at his sides. "I'se been doin' good."

Tyce's sharp gaze turned quickly then to Gabby, yet softened ironically. Gabby's eyes darted to Ace then to Tyce again, an uncomfortable feeling washing over her. Tyce had always looked at her in that mysteriously twisted way. It was worse today, though, since Gabby had been dressed up due to the funeral. His stony eyes traveled slowly from her pale face, to her suffocated chest beneath her corset, to her black-clothed hips, and even to her toes.

"You'se, a'right, Gabrielle?" questioned Tyce in a level that was just above a whisper.

Even from five feet away, Gabby could feel the seductively alluring yet sickening warmth of his breath escape from his mouth which had been devoured by countless prostitutes or other unfortunately willing female creatures. A stinging heat panged to her cheeks, but not in the sweet, blushing way. Nevertheless, Gabby had to answer the boy's question; after all, once her deceased parents' money ran out, Tyce would be providing for her. And that money was starting to diminish.

"Good, but," Gabby responded quickly with a mixture of uneasiness, firmness, and fear. "I had a close call," she squeaked.

Ace shot his head to her direction. Tyce locked his jaw as the previously softened expression morphed to one of demand.

"What're ya talkin' about?" Tyce inquired firmly.

Gabby took a deep breath as her heart rate jumped up rapidly. She knew she had spoken too fast. If she did not underplay the situation soon, she would be a goner. Tyce was powerful and domineering. Tyce could do whatever he wanted to her, even kill her.

"Just an itty, bitty close one, Tyce." Gabby demonstrated by positioning her forefinger and thumb to be less than an inch apart.

Tyce stepped toward her with phony sympathetic eyes. "Just how close?"

Gabby kept her cool and proceeded. "Well, Spot came over one n-night and said some of the, uh, boys were suspicious of me, since Spot's been talking to me so much…"

"That _is_ true," Ace added from the side. "I was there," he said proudly.

Gabby's shoulders fell slightly at what Ace had just said. _Idiot_, she thought. If Ace made it a bigger deal that she was almost caught, her ass would be on the line completely.

Gabby anticipated Tyce's reaction as he glared at Ace for a moment. Still to answer, he turned slowly and picked up a small chair from the ground. He walked behind it and curled his short fingers around the back. With his lips smirking slightly, he gestured with his other hand for Gabby to take a seat. Gabby looked at Ace, unsure, mentally asking him what Tyce was going to do. Under the added constraints of her corset, her breathing quickened to short and quick beats while she took a hesitant seat.

Gabby suddenly felt Tyce's cold fingers snake their way to her shoulder and onto one side of her bare collarbone. They traveled with incredible, forceful ease; she wondered when they would stop, considering there was not much room between that and the lining of her low-cut dress, and that and her chest. Thankfully, the tips of his fingers halted an inch from her chest.

"Gabrielle, are you developin' feelings for Mr. Spot?" Tyce asked out of the blue, shoving the other issue aside.

"Of course not," Gabby answered quickly without thinking. Her hands placed themselves upon her lap as her fingers fiddled with the dark fabric.

"None whatsoever?" Tyce repeated and put his other hand opposite of his right on her collarbone. "So tense, Gabrielle. Loosen up," he coerced.

Both hands' presence worsened the feeling deep in her stomach as she closed her eyes tight.

"None."

Tyce began slowly messaging her shoulders with subtle strength, every motion sending another wave of tension through Gabby. She then found herself questioning her _own_ answers.

"Ya sure?" he repeated. "I mean, all that time spend with someone—"

"I'm sure," Gabby blurted out in interruption as Tyce's fingers worked deeply into her skin. Her fingers now scratched at her dress and her eyes remained straining to keep closed. _Was_ she sure?

"C'mon, Gabrielle, don't lie…"

_Don't lie, don't lie_, she thought. Gabby could now feel Tyce's insistence in his fingertips. _But I'm not lying! _She needed a difference answer for this to stop. Anything. She couldn't take the way Tyce got answers from her anymore.

"You know I don't like liars, Gabrielle."

_St-Stop it; don't call me that!_ Gabby screamed in her mind. She brought her fingers to link betwixt one another as she could feel her knuckles turn white. She could else tell that just above her chest would be the opposite: red. _Just say anyhting._

"Fine!" Gabby shouted in defeat. She felt her eyes wet as she opened them, thought she was not sure if it was from tears or sweat. She saw Ace standing before them nervously; Gabby could tell he was fighting the urge to defend her. Yet, if he did, they would both have to pay.

Tyce's hands stopped rubbing and rested at her bone in expectation. His fingers were still cold.

"I just like spending time with Spot," Gabby said in an exasperated voice.

Movement ceased while Tyce pondered briefly over this statement without flinching a muscle. Gabby could feel her heart beating high in her throat. Then, Tyce bent his knees quickly to speak in her ear.

"I suggest ya work on that," he whispered as his breath filled her ear, sending chills to her whole body. He let go of his hold on her, placed hands on either side of the chair's back, and crouched down in front of her. His hard chest touched her knees as he gazed ardently at her. "I'se wouldn't wanna be havin' to hurt you, now."

Gabby swallowed through her hard jaw without moving her lips as they stared at one another.

Tyce brought his hand up to just barely hold her left cheek while the back of his other hand brushed gently against the right side of her face. "Such a beautiful face; wouldn't wanna ruin it."

Gabby could not help the involuntary, disturbed shudder raking through her body. Tyce then got to his normal stance and turned to Ace.

"So, Ace, tell me somethin' good." His voice returned to its normal speaking tone.

With her gag reflex being tough to fight, Gabby struggled and swallowed it back down. She held her corset-laden stomach and wiggled around to become less tense while Tyce's back was turned.

"Well, Brooklyn's gettin' fired up. I can assure you 'a that," Ace informed him. "They've yet to talk about what they'se plan to do exactly, though. I think they're waitin' to see yah next move."

"Good, good…" Tyce responded, basking in the evil satisfaction he was clearly getting from all of his wicked plotting.

"And, uh," Ace stuttered meekly, raising one hand lowly. "Can I ask why we killed Blink?"

Tyce raised one eyebrow at him distrustfully.

"J-Just 'cause, well, I didn't know that was part 'a the plan," Ace said with a cowardly shaking voice.

With a heavy sigh through just his nose, Tyce walked slowly over to a dust-filled window. He smudged a small circle to peer through with his dark red sleeve. "I s'pose it wasn't. But I needed to let Conlon know officially. I nevah trusted that 'Kid Blink' neither. That eye patch always had me suspicious."

Ace and Gabby exchanged looks with one another quickly before Tyce turned around once more.

"But there's no time to discuss why I have ya guys do things," he said with two quick, hasty claps. "I need you'se guys outta here and in that lodgin' house. I need to know what these guys plan on doin' next. Ace, keep annoyin' Conlon; it gets him pissed enough to talk to her." He nodded to Gabby.

"Will do," Ace assured him with a sneaky smile.

"And you," he said to Gabby, "keep playin' innocent, a'right? I think he's intrigued by you." Tyce turned to face her completely, and in a low and serious voice, asked, "fucked 'im yet?"

Gabby scoffed to herself slightly. "No."

"Good. Bettah stay away from the sex. He won't tell ya anythin' anymore if ya sleep with him, I think. You'll just be another one'a hiswhores. No offense.I mean, you can have as much fun as ya like with him, but make sure he don't get tired with you."

With a roll of her eyes, Gabby got to her feet without haste, grateful to be out of that chair. As she and Ace made their way down the creaking staircase, she looked back above her. Tyce stood at the rail that outlined the hallway around the building for overseers to watch the employees. For a split second, the stern look on his face made Gabby think he was about to whip out a pistol and finish her off right here. But with a simple nod of his head, Gabby knew she would make it out of that building once more alive. Still, the remnants of Tyce touching her made her stomach lurch painfully. It wasn't the first time he had done something like that.

Once outside, Gabby took a breath of much-needed fresh air. She walked next to Ace in silence as they made their way to the lodging house to dig up anything worthy of advancing Queens against Brooklyn.


	13. Brooklyn Under Watch

"How 'bout we just have someone kill Tyce in his sleep," suggested an extremely exhausted Jack, "hire someone to just slit his throat."

The boys had been pining over what to do next for several hours in the smoke-filled room. Countless ideas had been thrown out there and every one of them dropped. The floor around them was littered carelessly with cigarette butts and crumbled pieces of paper. David wrote down Jack's proposal on a notepad just like he had done with all the other ideas.

"Sounds good to me," Bold said in a tired voice. He sat uncomfortable in his chair with his arms dangling at his sides and forehead planted on top of the table so that all he saw was the tops of his brown shoes.

"You wanna volunteer fer that job, Bolt?" Thompson asked with a hint of sarcasm as his head rested on his bent arm on the table.

"Sure," Bolt sighed. He retrieved his slingshot from his pocket and waved it around with a lazy arm as if he were to attack. "Watch out, Tyce."

Bolt's act of sarcastic humor provided much needed comic relief to the group. Thankful laughs and brief chuckles sprang from each boy's mouth for a couple of seconds. Even Spot let out a laugh. Bolt brought his head back up upon hearing this.

"Thank god, Conlon!" Bolt said as if he had been waiting for years to hear Spot laugh. "I was startin' to think you was dyin'."

"Ah, shut it, Bolt," Spot said in a drained tone. He took a ball of paper from the table and threw it at Bolt effortlessly, hitting him in the face. "Ain't like I'm really dead."

"Yeah, 'cause 'a 'Gabby'." Bolt made air quotation marks at the saying of her name.

"You shut up," Spot said in defense.

"Who's Gabby?" Racetrack asked curiously, drumming his fingers along the table and fiddling with a cigar.

"This girl Spot's seein'," Thompson answered as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Hey, maybe _she_ could kill Tyce for her," he joked.

Spot chuckled involuntarily. "Yeah, that'll be happening."

An air of lesser tension settled now in the room. They took a short break for some normal conversation for a couple of minutes, took a little restroom break, and got off the topic of depressing war plans. Soon, though, got back to the reason why they were there.

"What about Buckles over in Coney Island?" David suggested hopefully. "I mean, they were in on the spying before; I'm sure they'd help us now."

Spot winced and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think bringin' 'em in would do much, to be honest. They ain't ready for this."

David sighed and crossed out his idea on the paper. With a yawn, he stretched out his hand to make sure the cramping muscles were still intact. He had been writing for quite some time now.

"That reminds me," Thompson said abruptly as he straightened up quickly. "Harlme. Our spy said Jumper was talkin' to Tyce."

"You sayin' they had a secret alliance?" David asked, more to clarify himself than asking a question. "Bastards. We were okay with Harlem."

Jack suddenly got up from his chair and started pacing around as if he were antsy. His eyebrows furrowed determinedly as his mind raced speedily and his hands flickered around to suggest said racing mind. The other watched him in expectation. Jack then smacked his hands together and turned to face their eager faces.

"I got it," he said with energy, "we send a little message over to Jumper and his boys, if ya catch my drift, lettin' 'em know we know all about their siding with Tyce. We don't necessarily gotta kill someone, but we gotta make Jumper look like a total dumbass fer tryin' to keep a secret. We then hold a war council with 'em and discuss what to do next."

They looked at Jack with blank faces while considering the proposal as David scribbled away.

"It ain't genius," Jack said, "but it's the best I got."

Spot paused for a moment and took to his feet. "I like the strikin' Harlem idea. That, I can definitely arrange."

While the boys enthusiastically mapped out a plan of attack, they were under the assumption that they were in a confidential area. Spot had specifically instructed each newsie to stay out of the lodging house for the afternoon. Although, sitting upon the staircase just outside the bunkroom door was Gabby.

_God, first I have to weasel this stupid shit out of him, and now I actually have to go in and hide_, Gabby complained to herself. For what seemed like hours, she had been planted on the splintery wooden boards with her ear pressed to the door. Every comment that was made fell into her hearing range, from the spat upon proposals to the comment of her killing Tyce. That one was ironic and rather amusing.

However, Gabby did not have much of a choice. She got herself involved with Tyce's work and now she had to finish. Gabby remembered that day pretty clearly:

_"Hey, sweetie, why're you lookin' so upset?"_

_"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it." _

_His hand brushed against her cheek. "C'mon, I'm here for ya…"_

_"Thanks…"_

_The alcohol was flowing. The desire was intense. She used to be innocent._

Unfortunately, there was no going back now. Tyce's personal power over her was increasing with every bit of news she gave to him. The mere thought of her leaving all of this made her cringe.

It was getting pretty interesting now, though; Thompson had just brought up how Queens and Harlem were secretly allies against Brooklyn. At the mention of this, Gabby sat up in hopes of juicy information and listened intently. Lucky for her, Jack was telling the group of his idea in a clear voice. For every word, she made a mental note. To her, the idea was good for Brooklyn; then again, anything would after _this_ long of an afternoon. Her back was starting to ache terribly from sitting against the wall. She could now hear Spot's voice agreeing with Cowboy. Hm…his voice was kind of cute from a distance.

Before her lips spread into a smile, Gabby heard the downstairs door open. _What?_ she thought, puzzled. _No one's supposed to be here. _She stood up ever so quietly and began to tip-toe down. The voices of younger boys filled the room at the bottom of the steps, although the staircase would not allow her view of the door. Outside came a crack of lightning and it instantly started to downpour. _Shit_. The boys were coming in from the rain. _Dammit, why couldn't the have gone somewhere else?_

Unsure of where to go, Gabby made her way up the steps again. _Maybe they'll stay downstairs. _Frantically, she scurried up. IN doing so, she slipped on one step and landed in an awkward position that involved the front side of her body to be spread upward on the staircase and a few right ribs to hit the wooden boards mercilessly. Gabby resisted the urge to let out a yell, got up, and clutched her aching side. As she got up further, the door to the bunkroom flung open and there stood a rather puzzled Bolt. Obviously her crash had caused a disruption.

"Hi," she said, scared and uncertain of what else to do. She quickly straightened herself out and grabbed the gray hat on the step. "I'm Gabby."

"Oh, so _you're_ Gabby," Bolt replied in a tone that more accused her than greeted her.

Spot jogged up to Bolt's side and noticed Gabby standing there, clutching his hat. He too looked confused.

"You left your hat at my place," Gabby told him and handed it to him. "Sorry, I figured you would need it."

"Oh, thanks." Spot graciously took his possession and smiled. "Just give me 'bout ten minutes to wrap things up and then we'll go."

As Gabby nodded, Spot went back to the table of guys and Bolt shut the door in her face without a second glance. Gabby sighed relief to herself as her heart rate returned to normal. She could feel her beating pulse slow in her eardrums. Her hands rubbed her bruising ribs as she winced with pain, surprised if they would not be broken. A roll of thunder came from outside with a heavier set of rain. Yes, things were definitely looking up for Gabby Lawrence.


	14. A Rainy Afternoon

The rain created a thick, gray sheet coming down from the sky as Spot and Gabby stood at the lodging house doorway. For a couple of moments they stood, contemplating what they should do: stay or brave the weather. When Gabby asked Spot, he had told her, with an adorably sweet face, that he just wanted to spend time alone and away from all of this. She couldn't resist the innocence of his face and agreed to leave, turning on her best charm. The umbrella popped open and he held her close so she wouldn't get wet.

"You are quite the gentlemen, Spot," Gabby said as they strolled along the streets quickly as not to be hit with lightning.

"Thank you very much," Spot smiled proudly and lifted his chin as though to bask in her compliment.

Gabby laughed and nudged him playfully. "So, are you okay now? Is everything all right?"

Spot thought for a moment. "Yeah, things are fine. We put some things together and…" He stopped and looked into her eager eyes.

_Come on, my little toy, 'fess up_, thought Gabby. "Yeah?"

Instead, Spot smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder dearly to hold her close to his side while twirling the umbrella above them with his other hand. "Let's just enjoy the walk."

Gabby smiled reluctantly and looked back down to the puddle-covered ground. It was strange what she was feeling; she felt incredibly safe in Spot's arms, that he was so good to her unconditionally. She quickly pushed those thoughts aside and counted how much longer she had to dodge them until they reached her apartment.

Not long after, Gabby had made them a dinner of warm soup and they retired to her bedroom. Like a settled couple, Spot sat on his usual side of the bed reading a newspaper and Gabby was on the right side with _Huckleberry Finn_ open to a random page. The silence was quite comfortable to her. It was pleasant and innocent, at least on his part; all Gabby could think of was her job. Somehow she needed to get the next information from Spot, be it from talking to him or going in again. Ace was no help; he was just there to give Spot a hard time to get him to come to her, and also to pick up on news. She was the one doing all the dirty work. With a sigh, she closed her eyes stressfully. How did she get here?

_"I think I know somethin' that could get ya on yer feet, Gabs. I owe a friend 'a mine a favor."_

_"No, Ace, I'm really not in the mood to talk about this stuff. Can you be a little more supportive at least? My parents are gone and I have nowhere to go…"_

_"Time to move on, Gabby. That's what I did."_

_His friend was Tyce Nichols. They had met right after Ace ran from the war. He was very good-looking, Gabby remembered; silvery eyes, firmly sculpted muscles, dark brown hair, and a way of alluring her close. And he also needed a favor. He named the terms politely to make the cause sound just. He was friendly. Friendly and polite and handsome. At the time._

_"You in, Gabs? We can get this Conlon guy. If we do it, Tyce said he'll take care of us aftaword. He'll set up a place for us in Queens."_

_"I don't know, Ace. It's pretty sneaky."_

Gabby tightened her grip on the book's covers as she further recalled that night.

_"Still thirsty, Gabrielle?"_

_Her head was spinning and she was drinking alcohol without a care in the world. Tyce was cute. He was gorgeous. "Sure…" The golden-colored liquid filled her glass once more and poured down her throat. It made her eyes water._

Gabby put one hand to her throat gently, remembering the burning feeling.

_He ran his hand through her hair tenderly as she thought she was about to cry. "C'mere, Gabrielle. It's okay. Just gimme a simple answer: you in or out?"_

_Tears watered her eyes weakly and she found herself wrapped in Tyce's arms safely. Why was he being so nice to her? He was asking her to ultimately betray this guy, Spot Conlon. He wanted to kill Spot Conlon and he needed her to help him do it. His hands rubbed her back gently and traveled up to message the tension out of her shoulders as if working out an answer with his fingers._

"You all right?" Spot asked worriedly, bring her back to reality.

Gabby found that she had bent her knees close to her chest and her head bowed down while she reminisced. She looked up. Spot was staring at her with confused eyes. It was still pouring down outside as thunder rumbled angrily.

"Y-Yeah," she stuttered as she sat up to her normal position, her ribs jolting painfully and causing her to cringe.

"What's wrong?" Spot sat up straight and tossed his newspaper to the floor.

"Oh, I just," Gabby started with a pause, "I just hurt my ribs pretty badly."

Spot looked to where her hands clutched the side of her stomach tightly. He let his hand to where hers were, locating the pain and playing doctor by asking "Does it hurt here? Here? How did you even get this…?"

"Ow, yeah right there hurts," she whined in response. _I was spying on you and I tripped up the stairs. Sorry._

"Mind if I take a look?" Spot inquired seriously.

Gabby looked at him as if she had just called his bluff.

"For medical purposes, Gabby," he assured her, keeping a straight face for all of five seconds.

"Fine, fine, go ahead," Gabby sighed in defeat. She unbuttoned just the bottom two buttons of her light blue blouse to reveal a still reddened scrape along her skin that covered a nasty forming bruise.

Spot winced as if he knew her pain. His fingers rubbed along her smooth skin gently with care. Gabby jerked only a little at the least bit of pain. Spot then got up to the window, stuck his fingers out to dampen them with rain, and sat back down beside her. Placing one hand on her back firmly, he carefully ran his fingers over the injury.

Gabby fought the shudder that threatened to rake through her whole body. She could feel goosebumps on her stomach as Spot treated her injury by rubbing it softly and cleaning it up. The only thing she could think of was Tyce doing something like this to her against her non-fighting will, only Tyce would have entirely different intentions. But with Spot she could handle this. She could deal with him treating her tummy. She did not mind at all, actually.

Spot finished stroking her stomach gently and Gabby bit her lower lip as he then proceeded to softly blow against her beaten skin with care. _Oh, god_, Gabby thought, _I'm enjoying being taken care of way too much. _He continued to smooth out the pain of her scrape, though he could not heal the bruising. And just like that, her ribs did not hurt as badly; though, she was not sure if it was real or just psychological. With a final stroke of his thumb, Spot sealed his work with a kiss just beneath the wound. _This could last for longer. Really, I wouldn't mind._

"I'm not entirely sure that was part of the procedure, Dr. Spot," Gabby teased with a smile.

He looked up at her from her abdomen with his big, beautiful eyes. "You gonna fire me?"

The memory of Tyce's similarly colored eyes shot back to her and she immediately shot it back down. She sighed and looked to her side like she was too offended to even answer. Through her pressed lips, a smile grew out of her will. Spot placed a hand to either side of her as he leaned up and kissed her on the cheek.

"Ya know ya can't reject me," he told her in quiet voice.

True, in more ways than one. Gabby weakened a bit as his soft lips pecked slowly at her cheek until they reached her willing lips with a seductive kiss. As if her body had more control than her conscience telling her not to, her hands slowly came up and pushed down the straps of his suspenders quickly.

_"Make sure he don't get tired with you_," she heard Tyce in her mind. _"You'll just be another one 'a his whores."_

But before she could let her hands do anything else, Spot was holding the nape of her neck with one hand and unbuttoning the rest of her blouse while their lips were locked firmly together. Gabby opened her eyes and looked to the side as she could not bear to close them sincerely in the kiss. As they parted, he touched his forehead against hers.

"If ya're dyin' to know, we're goin' afta Harlem," he said suddenly.

Gabby's breath caught with her and nestled into a ball into her throat. "Oh?" was all she said. She knew she needed to find that out, but just not like _this_.

"Ya said ya wanted to know. And it was strange not tellin' ya," he breathed a laugh. "I tell you everythin', it seems."

"Oh. Yeah," she giggled forcibly.

Spot smirked quickly and kissed her once more.

As the Brooklyn leader pressed his lips against hers and traveled down her neck, Gabby stared up at the ceiling. She had to be honest with herself, and the truth was that she could no longer kiss him with closed eyes if she needed to complete her job. Her loyalties lay with Tyce; not kissing Spot. But, although she did not want to admit it to herself, for all along she had denied it, the first real and true emotion came to surface; the burning, stinging pain of guilt.


	15. Once and For All

The dawn broke into the following morning without much force. The rain had ceased to fall outside and from the lack of sunlight in the room it had all the makings for a dreary day; gray skies, hardly any breeze, and low temperatures for May. Gabby awakened slowly and felt her head move up and down steadily as she had slept on Spot's bare chest. He snoozed silently with his arm draped lazily over her as she moved her face to look up at him. Out of all the times she had seen him, he was in his most calm state, it seemed. Yet even so, Gabby could still sense the growing concern within him. Poor guy; he did not know what he was getting himself into. Or had already gotten into.

"Spot," Gabby whispered quietly, nudging his shoulder gently. "Time to wake up, Spotty."

Ever so slowly, his eyes opened groggily. An inaudible growl came from the back of his throat and he shut his eyes once more. Gabby sat up, now remembering that she hadn't changed to pajamas before going to bed, and swiftly retrieved her shirt from the floor. Her cheeks turned to a shake of pink as she was slightly embarrassed for sleeping topless with just a slip.

"Come on, Spot," she cooed enthusiastically. "You'll be late for work."

"Five more minutes, baby, and I'll get up," Spot replied in a sleepy voice.

Gabby sat on the edge of the bed next to him and yanked him to a sitting position by his arms. He slouched his shoulders and yawned tiredly.

"Ya're killin' me, woman."

"Sorry, sweetie, I have stuff to do, too, after you leave." She pulled him up to stand next to her on the floor as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Rise and shine," she added perkily.

After much struggled and too many kisses goodbye, Spot walked out the door and down into the streets. Gabby fumbled around the apartment to straighten up for her visitors; Tyce was bringing Jumper from Harlem to her place for their meeting. Tyce didn't like mess around him, which was an odd quality to have when you live on the streets. But Tyce was not a normal orphan. She scurried around the bedroom, making the bed and double-checking for any evidence Spot had slept in it.

Gabby went to the washroom on her floor and changed into a reasonably nice, dark green dress. She made sure this time it didn't have a low neckline or require a corset. She walked around the small apartment once more and ended up plopping down onto the couch to wait.

_"You want to see me dance?"_

_"I would love to see you dance."_

Gabby smiled irresistibly as she thought about that lovely evening.

_"So, Brooklyn can dance."_

_"As much as ya'd like to think so, ya haven't got me figured out completely."_

_"I guess not."_

She wanted the good thoughts to keep coming. She let her mind think back to all the times she spent with him. She enjoyed these thoughts—they even carried her to lie on the bed so she could recall further memories with him with much more ease. She figured going back to the scene of the crime would help. It did. Her mind was filled with every possible good thought thinkable. Her brain was a sea of memories.

"Don't _you_ look happy," cam Tyce's voice suddenly.

Gabby jumped in fright. She got up and clutched her pounding chest to calm her shot nerves. With a sigh, she stood and faced the boys. Jumper, she presumed, was the sixteen-year-old standing next to him. He was rather short to be the ruler or Harlem; he just passed Tyce's chin with his almost black, curly hair.

"Did I scare ya?" Tyce asked.

"No," Gabby answered quickly. Tyce never scared her—or at least she liked to think so. "You just surprised me."

"Oh. Well, this here's Jumper," he introduced with a nod as he crossed his arms over his chest to lean against the wooden doorway.

Gabby walked toward the fair-skinned, dark-eyed boy and held out her hand politely. Jumper looked up at Tyce with ruffled brows briefly and then clutched Gabby's hand in some form of a handshake. It was then tat Gabby realized why he was a ruler—his grip alone was painfully strong. The door opened behind them and Ace came running up.

"Sorry I'm late," he panted, out of breath. "What'd I miss?"

Gabby felt Tyce staring at her and she made her eyes wander slowly towards his. Just his menacing gaze caused a pang to jolt about her stomach. Quickly she flicked her eyes away.

"Nothin'," Tyce answered while still looking at Gabby. "We're just gettin' started."

"Good! Let's go to it," Ace said as he and Jumper made their way to the table.

As Gabby went to join the boys, Tyce placed his arm to the other side of the doorway as to keep her from exiting. She gulped a bit and looked up at him. She could tell her knew what she was doing to her. The smirking quality he possessed took form in his lips so that a corner upturned. He brought up a hand and curled pieces of her hair behind Gabby's ear. He leaned in and, thinking, he was going to kiss her, Gabby turned her cheek to other way. But instead, Tyce buried his hand to the nap of her neck and his face moved about her hair, her neck, and her face.

"You smell 'a Brooklyn," Tyce sneered into her ear. He moved back and Gabby only looked at him without answering. "Sleep with 'im?"

Gabby hardened her gaze to him. "I slept _next_ to him" she said truthfully. Without another word, she walked underneath his arm and sat down upon a chair. Tyce sighed and joined the others.

"So, how's Harlem?" Ace asked Jumper in an obliviously happy voice.

The short, angry-looking boy unclenched his jaw to speak. "'Sgood."

"Everythin's dandy, Ace," Tyce said in a condescending tone. "What d'ya guys got fer me today? Gabrielle, let's start with you."

Refusing to look at Tyce, Gabby fixed her eyes to a long crack on the table to focus in on. How should she answer this one? Spot blatantly told her exactly what the boys were planning to do, and that was going after Harlem. "Nothing," she responded. "Spot didn't tell me anything."

There was silence as Gabby could feel Tyce's silver eyes burning into her. She continued to look at the table.

"Are ya ly—" Tyce began.

"I got somethin'!" Ace interjected loudly. "And it's a damn good thing ya're here, Jumper, 'cause they'se plannin' on strikin' Harlem."

Tyce turned his gaze to Ace and away from Gabby, Gabby the Liar. "Really? What else?"

Ace readjusted in his wooden seat because of his obvious importance. And Gabby cursed him in her mind.

"I ovaheard the boys, they'se gonna send someone to 'send a message' to ya, Jumper. They know all about yah guys alliance and they are _pissed_!"

"How'd they find out about it?" Jumper demanded in a scratchy, low voice. "That was top-secret."

"They had spies, 'a course," Ace told him. "Right before Blink died."

Tyce and Jumper both looked at Ace directly and intently with challenging looks. Although they were not given to her, Gabby was afraid.

"Why didn't ya tell us before?" Tyce yelled, "we nevah knew dat!"

Ace furrowed his eyes. "Yeah ya did, I told they sent some out!"

"Ya nevah said Harlem, ya dumb fuck! Ya told me Bronx, Midtown, and East Side! Nevah said nothin' 'bout spies in Harlem!" Tyce's anger was skyrocketing by the second.

Ace turned to stare at the table, searching his brain to meetings in the past in which he passed along information. "I didn't.?..."

Tyce grunted loudly and pounded his fist against the table and jumped up, pacing fast around the small area. "I knew you'se was bad fer the job! Goddammit, Ace! We coulda used that before and this shit woun't've dragged out fer so long!"

Ace's expression shifted quickly from dumb to plain terrified. He looked across the table to a helpless gabby and then to Jumper, who said nothing except stared at Ace meanly.

"I'se sorry, Tyce," Ace apologized.

Tyce inhaled quickly and exhaled through his nostrils. He spun back around while his face decreased in red color. He stepped to the side of Gabby's chair and began twirling a piece of her hair around his finger. Gabby closed her eyes quickly and opened them again once her shoulders shuddered uncontrollably.

"It's a'right, Ace," Tyce finally said. "I forgive ya. This time. Just as long as Jumper ain't too mad."

All eyes turned to Jumper, the silent and unpredictable boy whose presence alone created an uncomfortable and intimidating mood. Tyce continued to fiddle about Gabby's hair while Ace squirmed motionlessly in his seat with anticipation.

"Forgive ya this time," Jumper finalized in his rough voice. "Next time ya slip up, though, Ace, ya're as good as dead."

Ace nodded understandingly and frightened. He licked his lips and gulped down his passing fear.

"Movin' on," Tyce declared and took his seat, letting Gabby's hair to fall back down her shoulder. "With the but little info we got, Jumper and I've come to a decision."

"We figgered Brooklyn would do a strike 'a some sort," Jumper said, "we just thought it'd be Queens they would attack. But, tweakin' the plans a lil' bit, we'se gonna keep on listenin' to their thoughts through you'se guys, and we gonna attack Brooklyn ourselves. We'll call them to, say, a meeting 'a some sort and…well, take 'em out once and for all."

"Surprise!" Tyce grinned cruelly to Gabby.

"I can't say I didn't expect that, Tyce," Gabby told him. "But I don't like it at all. I didn't know it'd come to this…" she trailed.

Jumper breathed a sarcastic laugh. "It ain't up to you. You'se just a dumb girl we put in there for props."

Gabby sighed and looked down to her lap, her thumbs twiddling quickly and nervously. "So, it's not quite over yet, is it?" She looked up at Tyce for a response.

He placed his hand upon her shoulder, four fingers on her back and her thumb on her collarbone. "No. It sure as hell ain't ovah."


	16. The Rose That Belongs to Spot

A/N: Not an entirely huge chapter in length, but packed with paragraphs. Enjoy!

* * *

A Brooklyn spy still lingered in Harlem. He, Noodle, had been there ever since the first spies had been sent out. He acquired such name from his excellent use of using his eleven-year-old brain and slipping through groups of people quite easily. To the Harlem newsies, he was quiet, stupid, and boring, and stayed out of all the fights or social aspects of their area. He knew better, though. Yet on this particular day, Noodle was coming back to the lodging house to hopefully gather any speck of information that would allow him back into Brooklyn. Out of all the spies sent out, he was the one that had to stay undercover until he could come back with something juicy since Bolt thought he was the best to stay. They were not messing around.

The lodging house was empty as Noodle rested with his hands behind his head upon the matted blankets on the worn and tattered mattress. He stared up at the bunk above him, tracing the lines of splintered wood with his mind. To date, he had been stationed in Harlem for one month and four days. So far nothing had happened and it was starting to agitate Noodle that he had been there for so long. If they (whoever "they" might be) were going to do anything, they would have done something by now. At least Noodle liked to think so.

Minutes later, Noodle got up from his bed and made his way to use the restroom. While in the cramped stall, the door to the bunkroom creaked open and soon after were two male voices, both firm and strong. Noodle had become accustomed to hearing the first one, given that though he had seldom heard him speak, he knew it without having to distinguish it otherwise. With his definite suspicion as to who was speaking, Noodle did not move from the stall and sat up on the toilet seat to hide his feet. He pressed his ears against the wooden door and listened carefully.

These two boys were insane to be talking about this topic so openly in the lodging house, where inquiring minds searched for the answers they were giving. As they conversed, a smile spread deliciously onto Noodle's small face. The boys had given him a ticket back to Brooklyn.

* * *

The weather had changed rapidly over the course of two days. It had been happening a lot lately. One day it would be rainy and cold, and the next it would be dry and hot. This day was no exception. Late in the afternoon, the sun scorched New York with a vengeance. Movement was quite slow in the streets and the time seemed to pass even slower. 

One of the few trees in the city of Brooklyn stood between the newsboys lodging house and the building next to it. It was a particularly odd sight to see, for not many green plants grew in Brooklyn and stayed for a long time. But, this tree was doing a civic duty as it provided shade to overlook the fire escape at the lodging house. Spot claimed shade rights first over anyone else, so he and Gabby sat lazily beneath the branches of the rare tree in Brooklyn.

"If it ain't for the heat today, you'se know I would be sittin' real close to ya, right?" Spot said to Gabby. He leaned his bare back against the dark red brick of the building and a bead of sweat trickled from his hairline as he swept it away with the back of his hand. He would also be showing better manners by having his shirt _on _if it hadn't been for the heat.

"Mhm," Gabby mumbled in response, leaning against the railing of the fire escape across from Spot in the rationed dark space available. She opened her heavy eyes tiredly and pushed up the sleeves of her red dress. In light of the heat, she had worn a more loose-fitting dress yet it still dipped a bit low in the neckline; then again, Tyce was not there. She closed her eyes again and added, "No offense taken."

Spot bent his knees upward and placed his elbows on either of them. He took the hat from his head and began fanning himself off with it in hopes of enticing a nice cool breeze. Gabby opened her eyes again just barely and watched Spot. His suntanned skin glistened only the slightest in the sunlight and with each wave of his hat it blew back a few pieces of golden brown hair from his beaded, slick forehead. It may have been the warmth of the day that drew forth the lustful, shameless thoughts to Gabby's mind, but she could not help but watch contentedly the person before her, the taut muscles in his arms and firm abdominals and all. After all, it was _his_ choice to remove his shirt…

Gabby pressed her lips together to fight the smile itching to come out as she closed her eyes once more. She did not want to allow herself any more of those thoughts considering the position in which she was. Spot pressed his forehead against his forearm that rested on the top of his knee and held the hat out to Gabby, mumbling a form of speech that she guessed was along the lines of an offer. She graciously accepted and began slowly moving the gray cap about the air in front of her face and chest. The minutes dripped at a snail's pace like the sweat on the back of her neck. Once more she opened her eyes to peer at the boy in front of her, so innocent and so oblivious. She wondered to herself to know what the ultimate act of betrayal would be like; she certainly did not like that thought. At first she figured she only had to get in, get some secrets, and get the hell out. She did not read anywhere that spending this much time with Spot was part of the job description. It was bittersweet, though. Gabby was pleasantly surprised with his company and it sickened her to think of how this would end.

Gabby's eyes fixed their gaze between the bars of the iron and down below. A group of boys, stripped to the bare essentials of their clothing, played marbles on the street next to the house as bystanders walked idly by. She wondered what Spot was like when he was their age, seeing as how they must have been near ten years old. Perhaps he was bossing people around even then, telling people what to do and taking shit from nobody. Gabby then remembered how Ace acted that way before his parents died. When they were kids he was the one ordering the others around. Now Tyce filled those shoes. The teeniest lump then formed in the back of Gabby's throat as she shifted her gaze back to Spot. She quickly, though, flicked her eyes back to the ground.

"Somethin's wrong," Spot said suddenly. He looked at her with a concerned face when she turned to look at him. "I can tell. Whenever ya're thinkin' real hard 'bout somethin', ya get that look. Are you'se okay?"

Gabby gulped down the lump and mentally straightened herself up. Her mouth spread to a closed-lip smile and she slowly moved over to sit closer. She locked her eyes with his and sat down next to him, far enough for cooling distance but close enough still. "What's your real name?" Gabby inquired randomly. _Don't do this, Gabby, don't get yourself in deeper._

"What?" Spot gave her a subtly strange look with a short laugh. Gabby sat cross-legged with her dress draped over her legs and positioned Spot to do as she did likewise. Spot furrowed his eyebrows slightly with a look of both skepticism and intrigue. Gabby reached out her hand and held the key on his necklace.

"What's…your real name?..." Gabby repeated with a somewhat saddened undertone. Her eyes worked over the key's ridges and she told herself to stop at once. She looked back up at him.

Spot breathed a laugh as he watched her play with his necklace more. "I'd tell ya but then I'd have to kill ya." He watched her eyes drop from his and her fingers let go of the key. She placed an arm on her leg and rested her head upon it. Spot thought to himself for a couple of moments and looked around. He leaned back and let out a powerful yawn, thinking about what Gabby had just asked him. He sighed to himself and sat back up. "Patrick Liam Conlon."

Gabby lifted her head again and looked at him, a combination of content and distress. "You're right, you _are_ very Irish. I guess that nickname of yours is an entirely different story, though…"

Spot took her free arm and held in his palms her delicate hands. He rubbed her skin gently and massaged slowly her wrist and forearm. "Got a middle name?

"Rose," Gabby answered weakly. "Gabrielle Rose Lawrence." Her voice clarified only a little as if to remind herself who she was, but it fell back again to a saddened state.

"I like that. Ya're like my little flower," he laughed. His face returned back to serious. "I'm not gonna ask ya what's wrong 'cause I know somethin's the matta, but you don't gotta tell me if ya don't want." Gabby let down her other arm and he instinctively took hold of it. "I wanna help, whatever it is, seein' as I pretty much tell you everythin'. So if somethin's real bad, ya know ya can tell me 'bout, a'right?"

With a grateful and fighting smile, Gabby nodded as she looked deeply into his eyes. She told herself to look away as she could not bear to look at him and keep from him her secret. He pressed his forehead to hers and kissed her lightly once on the lips, her eyes open completely while his shut.

"It's really hot…" said Gabby desperately as they simply sat closely together. She needed a distraction sentence from her thoughts to keep her from spilling everything.

Spot smiled. "Yeah, it's fuckin' hot." He kept his hands with hers and leaned back with his hands melting onto the iron, basking in the luxury of the shade. Gabby hesitated to move to a more comfortable position as the licentious thoughts came flooding back to her: Spot's firm features of his chiseled stomach and chest began to dizzy her. She shook them away and sat back against the building.

From inside the lodging house came a round of quick steps, followed by several fast steps. Gabby looked at Spot, who sighed to himself stressfully. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. She heard him mumble obscenities to himself as he felt around for his white checkered shirt. Then, Bolt suddenly popped his head out the window next to Gabby's face and turned to Spot.

"Conlon, we got it!" he said energetically with a brisk smile.

Spot simply looked at him strangely while he held the shirt with his hands. "What? Who d'we got…"

Bolt's smile decreased slightly and looked down next to Gabby. He turned back to Spot. "Oh hell, Noodle's back and he got…well, come inside and we'll tell ya." Bolt vanished again back into the house, where murmurs and conversation sprang up instantly.

Spot jumped up to his feet in one fast motion while Gabby lugged herself up leisurely without strength. He looked at her apologetically and hopped back into the room to join the others in hearing what Noodle had to say. Gabby stretched her arms high over her head and decided that she should probably listen in to what was going on. She knelt next to the window and listened very carefully.

It was difficult to hear at first, but soon the words were clearer than day: Noodle, an apparent spy for Spot, had intercepted information from Harlem that Jumper and Tyce were planning to call Brooklyn to a meeting to attack them. Gabby's stomach dropped instantly upon hearing this and her pulse began to race hastily and speedily. _Oh, shit,_ she thought, _Oh, shit,_ shit_, they know. _Her heart pounded angrily in her chest as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She stood up quickly, a little too quickly as she stumbled, and began pacing about the tiny area of space. Her hands clutched the roots of her hair at her forehead as she cursed to herself more than ever.

"Ya're kiddin' me!" she heard Spot say. "Those fuckers tryin' to double-cross me, double-cross Brooklyn! Well, they sure as hell ain't goin' far with that."

"Yeah, Noodle got everythin', too," Bolt added, "the dates and shit. I can't even begin to think what they'd do to him, though, if they found out he was a spy…"

A gut wrenching feeling formed in the pits of Gabby's stomach as she stood there on the fire escape facing the window. She stood there petrified at what had been brought to her attention: what would happen to _her_ if she was caught, what would Tyce do? Her head suddenly felt incredibly heavy and too hard to keep up. Her vision started to blur terribly as she could feel her chest heaving in and out heavily, the sound of her breath resonating within her ears as the only echo she could make out clearly. She could see Spot notice her within the building and heard his footsteps coming quickly to the opened window from the far end of the room inside.

Gabby's breath suddenly fell short and her entire body felt weak and frail. She heard Spot call her name as he made his way closer to the window. She held out her hand to the air to grasp something that wasn't there and just as her legs began to give in to the weight of her body, her fingertips brushed against his just barely and her mind went blank and she collapsed to the hard iron.

* * *

No more notes. seemed to go in a clean out a bunch of stories; another author's story got deleted for notes. Sorry! 


	17. The Art of Deception

* * *

"Wake up…come on, Gabby…" Spot said frantically. 

"She dead?"

"She ain't dead." Spot held Gabby's face gently as he knelt down over her in the highest of hopes that she would awake. Gabby did not move and Spot was beginning to panic. His breathing picked up as his nerves shook violently and he tried shaking her and tapping her face.

"Conlon…" Bolt began to say with uncertainty and worry. "She's not…is she?"

"Shut up, Bolt!" he yelled curtly. "She ain't dead!" Spot took his hands to hold the back of Gabby's neck, situating her to face him. Not a single word came to mind as he watched in anticipation.

The murmurs continued while Gabby began to come back to reality. Lazily and ever so slowly, she opened her eyes and immediately closed them from the blinding sun above her. Her palm came up to her face to block to fierce rays of light until someone moved in front of her. Before her stood several faces of boys, some she recognized as Bolt, Thompson, Glover, and even Ace; but the face that was closest to hers was the most frightened she had ever seen. She looked at Spot and blinked open her eyes completely. His face eased as movement stirred in her.

"Welcome back, kid," Bolt said.

Gabby's eyes traveled all around her slowly as the boys around her moved about slightly as if they had not flinched a muscle for a while. Spot sighed to let out the much-needed breath and brushed the hair away from her face.

"Feelin' all right?" he asked gratefully as he got up to help her to her feet.

Gabby mumbled a positive reply weakly as Spot picked her up with one arm placed at her back and the other behind her knees. Her arm draped over the back of his neck and met the hand of her other. She closed her eyes and rested her light-feeling head against his chest. The noise around her waved in and out of her ears as she felt Spot carry her down the rickety fire escape carefully. When she concentrated hard enough, Gabby could hear the gentle pitter-patter of Spot's heart.

"I don't deserve this," mumbled Gabby almost inaudibly.

"What?"

Realizing her thoughts were accidentally said aloud, Gabby opened her eyes as Spot walked around to the front of the building. He kicked the door open with his foot and adjusted his hold on Gabby as he proceeded up the staircase to the bunkroom. "Nothing," Gabby muttered.

"I'll let ya lay down for a little bit but I'll take ya home afterward," Spot told her. "I don't think you'd wanna stay here with all of us talkin' about Queens and Harlem and shit."

"Mhm…" mumbled Gabby as she was put down on one of the messy beds. Spot sat down next to her and ran his fingers tenderly through her hair.

"Thank you," she told him.

Because Spot had always been uncomfortable saying "you're welcome" after a heroic act, he simply smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Get some rest. I gotta go talk to some 'a the boys and I'll come back in a couple 'a minutes."

Gabby nodded and waved her feeble hand goodbye as he went back downstairs. She adjusted herself a little to allow more comfort for her sleep and her eyes fluttered to a close. She could not sleep successfully, however; she was afraid that if she fell asleep she would dream of never having gotten involved with Tyce or Spot. Although it had taken her too long to notice it, she needed to accept her reality.

"Hey."

A sharp nudge to Gabby's shoulder woke her instantly. Ace, with an expression of strict concern, sat on the bunk next to her. His brows furrowed harshly into his questioning eyes and his jaw locked into this lips.

"What're ya doin', Gabby?" Ace asked firmly.

"What?" She sat up to lean her back against the bed.

"It ain't _that_ hot out."

"It's not like I planned that…"

"Gabby, 'fess up. I know ya're hidin' somethin'. You ain't nevah held somethin' from me, now I wanna know what's goin' on."

"Ace, please. I just need some sleep, a'right? Jesus…" Gabby lay back down and faced the other direction. She punched her pillow to fluff it up more and dropped her head back down. Just as she angrily closed her eyes, she heard Ace's footsteps make their way from his side of the bed and now to the other. Gabby opened her eyes to see him, arms crossed and sitting on another bunk in front of her.

"Ya know ya gotta tell Tyce now," Ace told her just below a whisper.

"About what?"

Ace rolled his eyes impatiently and scooted closer to her. "That they _know_. I'se been givin' 'em too much information on my own. They'se startin' to think you ain't doin' nothin' but sleep with Spot. And I wouldn't piss off Tyce if I were you, Gabby."

With her pulse throbbing loudly within her eardrums, Gabby pressed her lips together and thought in consideration. "What're you saying, Ace?"

Ace's face softened slowly as he adjusted his seating. Hesitating to answer, he removed the hat from his head and scratched his sweaty hair. "Just give him somethin' he can use. A'right? This would be perfect."

That's not exactly what Ace was hoping to say, and Gabby knew it. She knew that he wanted her to give this information to save her ass. Understandingly, Gabby nodded and sighed deeply.

Minutes later, while Gabby rested silently and Ace sat watching over her, Spot entered the room again and once he saw Ace, he immediately became annoyed. He sulked to himself and stomped across the floorboards, but then softened his footsteps once he remembered Gabby.

"Hey!" Spot whispered loudly to Ace. "Let 'er sleep."

Ace sat up, looked back at Gabby, and got up quickly. He entered back to his mindset of irritating Spot, and skipped out of the room without apologizing. Spot closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. Eventually, though, when he collected his temper, he knelt in front of Gabby. Gabby smiled weakly as she connected vision with him. His arms, now covered with rolled up sleeves to the elbow, crossed over each other and were placed at the edge of the mattress. He smiled apologetically as his face was but inches from hers.

"Hey you," he whispered while looking up through to the tops of his blue eyes. They were bluer than she had ever seen before now.

Gabby hesitated, wishing he had never said that. She couldn't resist, though. "Hey you."

"Ready to go back and sleep in a real bed?"

She breathed a laugh and nodded as she started to sit back up again. Spot wrapped his arms tightly around her small waist and hoisted her off the bed. He held her in a hug above the ground for several moments until he let her back down again.

"Ya kinda gave me a scare for a couple 'a minutes," Spot told her.

"I'm so sorry…" But for _what_, exactly, was she apologizing for?

"Don't be sorry. It's not like ya planned it." He wrapped his arm around her lower back so that his hand even held somewhat of her stomach. They slowly made their way downstairs and into the streets. Although everyone around them was hustling around hurriedly, Spot and Gabby walked toward her apartment without haste. Conversation was minimal and it was apparent that Gabby was struggling in her mind to stay okay.

"I really need to work some stuff out back there," Spot said as Gabby plopped down lazily onto her bed. "So I'll stop by later this evening."

"All right. I'll see you later then."

"Bye." He lightly kissed her and was on his way back to the lodging house.

Gabby rolled over and buried her head face down into the pillow. She let out a quick, stress-relieving scream and took a deep breath. She hated this place; she hated the city, she hated the apartment, she even hated the damn pillow. She hated the direction in which her life was taking her and she hated everything about herself now. What she saw in the mirror thoroughly disgusted her, as she could not take being herself any longer.

After several minutes, Gabby rolled over to her side, giving in to falling into a deep sleep. Her mind, a sea of nightmarish dreams, stirred and buzzed constantly. She was walking down the street toward the abandoned factory in which Tyce held occasional meetings. As she entered through its front doors, she found Spot sitting on one of the steps, his right hand cupped over his left fist and rested underneath his chin. Gabby gasped sharply and stepped back upon seeing him.

"_No, it's okay, Gabby," Spot told her. He got up and reached out his hand to her._

_Gabby hesitated at first but slowly stretched out her hand and laid her fingers on his palms. Startling at first, Spot gripped her hand tightly and quickly pulled her by the arm to walk next to him. The initial motion jerked her as she was not expecting it, and they made their way up the creaking staircase. Spot let go of her hand and moved to walk behind her. Gabby then felt his warm hands on her shoulders, massaging them in the way Tyce had done as he led her further up the infinite staircase. _

"_Spot, what's going on?"_

"_Don't worry," he whispered into her ear, "I'm protecting you."_

"_Okay."_

_Spot jumped ahead of her and she stopped abruptly, staring directly into his silvery eyes. He then pulled her in suddenly to a tight, almost suffocating embrace. "Nothin's gonna happen to you as long as I'm here."_

_Gabby said nothing and soon he let go to lead her into a darkened room with only one window. Standing next to the dust-covered window was Tyce, his hands behind his back while staring outside in deep thought. He turned around rapidly on his heels and faced the two of them. _

"_Hello Gabrielle." Tyce stepped forward closer to Gabby. He took hold of her arm from Spot and yanked her close to him so that her chest was pressed firmly against his stomach. She gasped and started breathing heavily with terror. His charcoal-colored eyes connected with hers and pulled her in with all of their strength. Gabby tried looking away to see if Spot was behind her but she couldn't. Tyce was holding onto her arms with so much force that his hands began to shake and the knuckles turned white. In a fast motion, he lifted her off the ground so that her feet brushed the surface of the wood and threw her hard to the floor._

"_Please!" she pleaded. "I'm so sorry!"_

_Tyce planted his feet where he stood and folded his arms across his chest, staring down at her with a smirk. Spot stepped further into the room and paced about in front of her. Gabby's eyes stained her cheeks with tears and her shoulders shook with sobs as Spot continued to pace before her until he stopped and turned to face her directly. Gabby crawled backward on her hands and feet until her back slammed against the wall. _

"_Everybody knows, Gabby," Spot said._

"_No," she cried, "I'm so sorry, Spot."_

_He started walking slowly towards her, the sound of his boots connecting to the floor, resonating through the room and bouncing off the walls. Gabby trembled cowardly as she watched Spot advance to her. He knelt down with a smirking, friendly expression, and cupped her cold cheeks in his palms._

"_Hey you," he said in a combined voice of delight and disdain. _

_Gabby choked on the ball in her throat as she sat helplessly, sobbing and crying painfully while the boy she betrayed held her in his hands. "Please forgive me, Spot. I'm so, so sorry. Please…"_

"_Everybody knows, Gabby."_

_Tyce then pulled a black pistol from his pocket and held it with a raised arm beside him. A devilish smile took over his face as he began stepping toward them. Gabby began hyperventilating as she watched Tyce point the gun with both hands at her._

"_Spot," she panted, "you said you would protect me!"_

_His hold on her face strengthened as she squirmed around to break free. "People lie, Gabby. People lie and people deceive and people stab ya in the back and people betray."_

_Tyce stopped just behind Spot as he lowered the gun. Spot took one hand away from Gabby's face and took the pistol in his grasp. With a now locked jaw and hateful gaze, Spot rose slowly to his feet and pointed the gun directly at Gabby's heart. _

"_Spot, you said nothing would happen to me!" Gabby wept. "Please don't do this!"_

"_I know, Gabs, but everybody knows now." He cocked the gun. "You betrayed me, Gabby, and now I'm going to betray you."_

And he pulled the trigger and Gabby jolted awake to an upright position. Her neck was dampened in a cold sweat as she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest moved in and out quickly as she held her face in her hands. The guilty feeling was stronger than ever.

"Don't cry now, Gabrielle."

Surprised and caught off-guard, Gabby looked up to see Tyce leaning against the doorframe. She jumped off the bed and impulsively began hitting Tyce's chest.

"Why do you fucking do that?" she demanded.

Tyce raised his eyebrows and took hold of her arms to stop her. Gabby came to her senses and immediately stopped. Her arms were bent and positioned in front of her chest as Tyce squinted his eyes at her coldly. Gabby licked her dry lips and apologized inaudibly. He loosened his grip a little and stepped back.

"Anythin' happen, Gabrielle?" Tyce questioned. "Any news to tell me?"

Every fiber of her being begged her to say no and her heart screamed at her to do the same. The right thing to do was to deny any news Tyce was seeking and she even thought she heard her parents telling her the same thing. _No, nothing happened in Brooklyn._ It was as easy as that. But, Tyce's spine-tingling stare made her shudder like never before and the thought of being hurt at his hands caused her to cower in fear. For, if she did not produce any proof that she was doing more than have dinner with Spot, she was going to be hurt. Badly. By Tyce.

"Yes," she squeaked weakly.

Tyce's eyes seemed to light up with vicious delight and his lips curled into a curious smirk. "And just what new would that be?"

Gabby pressed her lips together and suppressed the knot growing in her throat. With a hushed, guilty voice, she answered, "They know you're going to attack them. They had a spy in Harlem that overheard everything you're planning to do."

Tyce's face lost all emotion and it frightened Gabby. She didn't know how exactly he would react. He let go and let her stumble limply. With a million devious thoughts running around his head, Tyce took a couple of steps around and walked about the apartment. Gabby watched him intently, trying to make out his next move. Suddenly he turned back to her with a pointed finger.

"Good!" he exclaimed with an evil smile and look in his eyes. "I'm so…"

Gabby blinked and, without warning, Tyce grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a forceful kiss. She let out a childish and silent whimper as his lips pressed against her fiercely. Her arms clenched helplessly at her sides as she fought off the urge to kick him right between the legs. Tyce continued to kiss her deeply with a violent force. Gabby squinted her eyes shut until they watered.

"I'm so happy I have you," he finished. With a smirk and final kiss, he turned and ran out the door.

Gabby fell back against he doorframe and lowered herself to the floor. The brutal truthat had come out: Gabby Lawrence had mastered the art of deception.


	18. The Truth About Flowers

"A'right, so this is what we got," Spot announced as he briskly lighted a match. He cupped his free hand over the cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth and waited until the end glowed orange. "We were right, boys: Jumper and Tyce are workin' togetha. Noodle, the spy we put in Harlem, got a shit load 'a info for us, and that's the point 'a this meeting."

Tibby's Restaurant was at the peak of its slowest hours; too late for lunch and too early dinner, which was the perfect time for the boys to gather in a booth suspiciously, yet conspicuously, close to the back. Jack Kelly adjusted his red bandana to loosen up his neck as he took a swig of his soda. David Jacobs fished out from his pockets a sharpened pencil and positioned a leftover newspaper on which to write.

"Accordin' to Noodle, Jumper and Tyce are plannin' to call us out to a meeting at that old factory over in Brooklyn," Bolt added, "where they think they'se gonna attack right when we get there. And then, after that, they'se goin' after you guys, Manhattan."

Jack rubbed his eyes for a couple of moments. "D'we know when they're plannin' to do that? Goin' fer _you_ guys?" he inquired.

Bolt retrieved a small slip of paper from his pocket and read the messy handwriting. "This Sunday."

"So, that gives us…" Jack looked above him in thought while one by one fingers sprang up from his hand. "Six days."

"Right. Conlon and I been talkin' this ovah for a while now and we think we got a plan worked out. We're just gonna run it by you'se guys."

Spot inhaled intensely on his cigarette and relaxed within the smoke filling his lungs. He watched the wispy, gray cloud seep out of his mouth and travel slowly before him. Calmed by the decent-sized inhalation, he watched the smoke swirls being blinked out of David's eyes across from him. He smirked to himself and continued Bolt's thought:

"Yeah. So, they'se sendin' a message to Brooklyn tellin' us the time 'a the meeting. Noodle said they're gonna just send a messenger and that he's gonna try to get be it. We don't know when they're doin' that, but since we know about the meeting's general date, we got time to work out a plan. Plus, there's no need to strike Harlem now." He held the cigarette between his forefinger and middle, occasionally pausing in his speaking to take a puff and flick the end of it. "Say they tell us to be there at six 'a clock, right? We go and set up in the factory at four. We wait fer them to arrive and attack them first. Beat 'em at they own game, see what I'm sayin'?"

Jack nodded in agreement, content and satisfied with the idea. David wrote swiftly on an article discussing a review for a random theatre show. He, too, nodded to himself.

"I like this," David said with his head still down. "It's not fancy or complicated. It's simple enough to work."

Spot sat back and leaned against the cushioned seat. "Exactly."

* * *

Along the street toward Gabby's apartment, the famous Spot Conlon smirk had returned from hiding and had come back with a vengeance. It was not the smirk that proved the scathing arrogance he once carried, but a smirk displaying the delighted superiority he used to feel. How many other newsies can one name who are seemingly a step ahead of his enemy? According to Conlon, the answer was "none." 

The cigarettes filled his pockets and shared the room with this morning's money made. Spot strutted down the street until he passed an apartment with a tiny garden of flowers in the windowsill. How many of _those_ can you find in Brooklyn? With a quick flicker of his eyes in both directions, he stepped to the window and swiped a luscious red rose from the patch.

Just before turning the corner to Gabby's street, Spot carefully stuck the rose stem into his pocket so just the petals were poking out. In his other pocket, he retrieved a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. For some reason on this day, his craving for such a habit was unusually high; he was not sure if he enjoyed the way it relieved the stress, or if he simply was celebrating his freshly stolen pack of cigarettes this morning. Patting around his other pieces of clothing, he noticed he had misplaced the matchbook he was carrying. Muttering quick obscenities under his breath, he looked around for someone who might happen to have a rolled and lighted piece of nicotine.

"Need a light?" a seductive and curious female voice questioned from behind him.

Spot turned around and faced what clearly seemed to be one of the hookers on this street. She had tanned skin, messy, brown curls pinned up in a way that suggested her free lifestyle, and a burning cigarette between her long, bony fingers. Her cherry red lips pulled one corner upward into her blushed cheeks, while a dark, thin eyebrow rose above her chocolate brown eyes. Under any other circumstances, Spot would have wanted more than a lighted cigarette.

The hooker held in her other hand a tiny box of matches. She stepped toward him, and, while maintaining a fierce eye contact, blindly struck the match against the rough cardboard. Spot concentrated on burning the end of the cigarette and took a step back once successful.

"Thanks," he said while breathing a wisp of smoke out of his mouth.

The girl, who was no older than he was, inhaled and stepped so close, their stomachs came into contact. "Anytime."

Spot furrowed his eyebrows at the girl and ignorantly stepped to the side to proceed down the street. The entrance to Gabby's apartment building was now in sight through the crowd of rushing people. While inhaling frequently he made occasional glances up at the sky, which was sunny with several clouds coming in. Yet with the threat of rain above him, Spot made his way contentedly toward his destination. Just as he reached the front doors, Gabby pushed her way out in a hurry with a flushed look about her face. She stopped and rested her hand on her hip, fanning herself off. Spot hadn't even noticed the heat. He breathed a quick laugh and stamped out his cigarette.

"Hey babe," Spot said while taking steps toward her.

Gabby looked over to the left with heavy eyes, and straightened up. A slow smile came to her face as she turned to face him. "Hey."

Spot met her in a tight embrace and held her close to him. "I got somethin' for ya."

"You do?" Gabby leaned back and left her arms wrapped around the back of his neck. "What's that?"

He quickly retrieved the red rose from his pocket and held it in front of her with a light smile. "For you, Gabby Rose."

Gabby's eyes softened immediately upon seeing her gift and her head slowly cocked to the side at its thoughtfulness. "Aww, thank you!" She took the flower and kissed him on the cheek several times. Her smile brightened as she put her hand on her chest, glancing between her loving present and Spot's adoring face numerously.

Spot moved his hands to grip her hips tightly, pulling her in close. "So, ya like it?"

"I love it," she answered, kissing him on the lips slowly.

He slowly snaked his arms around her lower back and picked her up while still in a kiss. Smiling against her lips, he walked around a small circle and eventually let her down so that her back was against the wall.

"Feelin' better from yesterday?" he asked while pressing his forehead tenderly against hers.

"Much better," she replied while looking at him through the tops of her eyes.

"Good." Spot then dove in again for a deeper, more passionate lip lock without any care that they were in very open public. A tiny giggle of delight sprang from her mouth as he kissed his way to her neck.

"Um…Spot?" Gabby said tentatively.

"Hm?" he said between kisses.

"There's somethin' I kinda want to talk to you about…" Gabby told him hesitantly. "And it's, um, well, I just need to talk to you about…something." It was on the tip of her tongue, the secret was itching painfully to come out.

"'Mlistenin'," he mumbled just before planting his lips seductively against Gabby's neck.

Gabby pressed her lips together and she could feel her hands shaking behind Spot's neck. "Good, good…uh…" _Say it, say it right now._

Just when she was starting to get it together and work out what she was about to say, Spot nibbled just the slightest on her earlobe, sending pleasure shivers straight up her spine.

"I guess it can wait…" she heard herself say.

Gabby could even feel Spot smirking from where he was. She buried her fingers into his hair and pulled his face toward hers fiercely. He breathed once before hastily being pulled into a hungry, fervent kiss.

"Mm-mh," Gabby shook her head while still locked with him.

"What?

"I, uh," she paused and licked her lips. "I just need to talk to you…badly…"

Spot brought his hands up and held the nape of her neck intensely, leaning his forehead against hers once more. "I'm listenin'." He slowly rolled his head around teasingly while staring at her with big eyes and a slight smirk.

As Gabby took in a deep breath to gather her courage and thoughts, a sudden cloudburst of unusually warm rain fell from the sky and fell on them, gradually increasing in intensity. Both Spot and Gabby looked up and blinked out small droplets. Spot let out a laugh and stretched back his neck to take in the rain. Gabby sighed miserably and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I guess we should go inside then," Gabby said without emotion over the loud downpour. She made her way, partially drenched, out of his arms.

"Wait, wait! Don't ya remember playin' in the rain when you was little?" Spot asked with a goofy smile, stopping her with his arm from going back inside.

Gabby looked at him uncertainly with a reluctant smile growing on her face.

"C'mon, babe, let's get wet." His lips grew into a suggestive smirk while he rubbed her hips.

Her jaw dropped a little; she could not think of anything to say to that. She closed her mouth, opened it to reply, and then closed it back again. A smile formed on her face as the rain poured down it. She tucked her rose into his pocket for safekeeping, and looked back up at him.

Spot stepped back and held out his hand as if asking her to dance. Gabby laughed and placed her dripping wet palm into his, and he pulled his arm back to twirl her around the street. She spun around in the gradually forming puddles and came back into his arms. After a quick embrace, Spot turned to the side and linked his fingers between hers. Their arms glued together at their sides as they splashed around the street like children.

Umbrellas popped up all over the place and provided shelter for those carrying them, and vendors in the market hastily took cover beneath store awnings. The rain fell at a reasonable force; more than a mere drizzle yet less than a beating downpour. Jumping in puddles and fooling around in the rain were Spot and Gabby, out of place between the hurrying adults and small children, as if between two worlds and unsure of which to choose. They made their way up and down the street, occasionally stealing kisses and splashing each other.

At the end of the block, Spot turned and they faced each other, both laughing hysterically at their immaturity. Gabby looked up at him, blinking water from her eyes, and calmed her laughter.

"Aw, look at you," she said as she watched the raindrops slide down his drenched face, and looked into his eyes that seemed to light up with vigor and life. "Baby's just a lil' wet."

"Me? Look at you," he laughed. He brought his hands up and brushed her sopping wet hair from her eyes and face. "I'm right, though, ain't I?"

"Right about what?"

"Playin' in the rain is fun." He held her face in his hands as he tenderly brushed his thumbs over her cheeks.

"Yes, Spot, you were very right."

"'Course I was."

Without hesitating a moment, Spot moved in and kissed her hard, the rain running down the back of his neck and all over the two of them. After several deeply passionate kisses, Spot pulled away and they looked at each other for a number of silent moments.

"I really like rainstorms now," she told him quietly.

"Me too," he responded in a whisper.

Gabby looked down for a moment at her messy, sopping clothes. She wished she wouldn't have to ruin the moment, but if she did not talk to him, she would never say it. Her head still down, she pressed her lips together and prepared to bite the bullet. She inhaled deeply and summoned up her courage. She had to do this, no matter what happened to her; it was time for her to fix the situation. Make everything right again. She opened her mouth and got ready to speak.

"Hey," Spot said as she looked up at him. His face had suddenly taken on a serious tone, even though a sense of bliss was mixed in it. His voice level was low but Gabby could still hear him despite the loud pounding of the rain. Without saying anything, he pulled her into an even tighter embrace and she rested her head against his chest.

"I love you," Spot told her quietly, his eyes furrowed slightly."D'you know that?"

Gabby's eyes opened quickly and widely. There it was. There were those three words. _I love you. _It was so simple and not over-dramatic. It fit to the moment. It was perfect. Her head told her look him in the eye and explain it all, to come clean and confess everything. But in the few seconds she had to respond, Gabby decided to listen to her heart for a change.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. Without a thought running through her mind at all, she found herself standing on her tiptoes and whispering into his ear, "I love you too."

Gabby rested on her feet again and he kissed her once more. He picked her up by her waist and twirled her around again.

In her mind, she cursed herself forever, yelling at herself and screaming at the top of her lungs. _Mistake. That was a huge mistake. I've dug myself into an even bigger hole._ She thanked God Almighty, though, that it was pouring down rain, for she did not want the tears streaming down her face to be noticed.

It is a known fact, though, about flowers: if you give them too much rain and not enough sunshine, they will drown. And Gabby was drowning fast.


	19. Twenty Five

Bolt. Thompson. Glover. Chip. Blackjack. Johnny. Catch. Switch. Noah. Bertram. Patches. Ian. The names rolled off Spot's tongue easily as he paced about in front of the lodging house that evening. They were Brooklyn's finest, his top choices so far to take to the meeting. He had several worthy boys to choose from, but the ones he had in mind sounded perfect to him.

He stood on the small wooden porch with his arms above his head at the porch roof. Casually he tried his best to relax while observing those who strolled the streets and returned home for the night. The setting sun was barely visible behind the dying rain clouds on his left, evidence of a rainy day along with muddy puddles along the street. A deep sigh exhaled from his lungs just as a familiar face came into view.

"There's definitely somethin' on yer mind, Conlon," Bolt greeted as he approached the porch. "Ya got that thoughtful-lookin' face goin' on. Freaks me out."

Spot stretched out his arms above his head. He lazily leaned his shoulder against the pole and placed one thumb in his pocket.

"Ya missed dinner," Bolt told him as he shuffled up the steps to talk to Spot. He stuck his hand in one pocket and jingled the many coins. "And a few rounds a' poker," he added with a smug smile.

Spot shook his head slightly and looked down at his feet. Suddenly he felt a tiny twinge of heat come to his cheeks as he answered Bolt, "I was with Gabby."

Bolt's mouth took the shape of an annoyed "Oh" as he sat on the porch railing. He turned his head and took off his hat. "All day?" he asked after several seconds.

"All day."

Bolt raised his head to nod, paused, and instead brought it to the side. "So, uh, things are gettin' pretty serious with this chick."

Rather than look at Bolt, Spot's gazed fixed on an object far away from them, deep in pleasant memory and thought. "I love 'er." He shifted back to Bolt to see his reaction, not that it really mattered.

Bolt stared directly ahead of him for moments. The conversation between them had halted, a now common event once Gabby had been brought up as a topic. Bolt cracked his fingers, the noise louder than usual. Spot rolled his eyes and adjusted his stance. As he was about to speak his mind to Bolt graphically and obscenely, a boy of adolescent years was making his way to the porch. Spot squinted his eyes.

"I don't believe it," Spot said with anticipation. "Noodle's back again."

Bolt turned back around and smiled excitedly. They hurriedly stepped off the porch and raced toward Noodle. The younger boy's face was swollen around the eyes, and he sported proudly a puffy, fat lip. His clothes were dirty and torn, with evidence of a rough experience over in Queens. The expression of his round, boyish face was of both relief and excitement.

"Ho-ly shit, Noodle," Bolt said as they met one another yards away from the lodging house, "what the hell happened?"

A swollen smirk spread across Noodle's face as he stared at them. "Got the messenger job, obviously. Lemme tell ya, it wasn't easy neitha."

"No kiddin', look at yer face! They roughed ya up good. How'd ya get outta there?"

"Tyce was all cocky and shit, walkin' around like he owned New Yawk, braggin' they gonna take out Brooklyn fer good. So this mornin' after sellin' he held a boxin' match to see who wanted the glory 'a givin' you'se guys the 'death message,' he called it." Noodle lifted his stomach, showing a number of bruises that varied in size and color. "Stayed alive fer nine rounds and won!"

Spot smirked and patted Noodle's shoulder proudly, as if a father would to a son.

Bolt laughed obnoxiously as they started their way onto the porch. They pulled three wooden chairs to a tight circle as Noodle informed them of the plans.

"First, they want you'se guys there at seven 'a'clock on Sunday. They wanna 'discuss territorial issues and problems.' Obviously, we know bettah than that, but that's what they told me, so I got the hell outta there."

Bolt and Spot nodded seriously and intensely, taking in the information and listening like military generals. Noodle continued:

"I ovaheard them tellin' some 'a their guys they gonna be at the factory at six to get ready. They'se so serious about this, Spot. They was talkin' about weapons, and Tyce wanted them each to get pistols and wrenches and knives and shit. We can't rely on just fightin' skills and slingshots."

Spot placed his arms on his elbows and massaged his forehead for quite some time. He suddenly felt the gravity of the situation atop his shoulders, and old emotions came flooding back of the time before the real war with Queens. It felt as though a compression on his chest was preventing enough oxygen to flow through his lungs. He took to his feet at once and pushed those feelings aside. His hand rubbed sternly from his forehead down to his chin.

"A'right," sighed Spot, "so this is it. Tyce is plannin' to fight dirtier than any otha newsie we know. It ain't like he just wants our sellin' spots. This is about power. He wants control ovah his territory and ours, and I'm thinkin' Jumper's tryin' to do the same thing with Manhattan. This ain't outta desire to sell fuckin' papers; it's about control and he's driven by hate fer us. He wants Brooklyn gone, and to use Queens as his…control center, fer lack of a bettah word."

Spot paused a moment and sighed before moving on, and Bolt and Noodle watched him battle with his pride. He hand pinched the sides of his forehead tightly as he covered his furrowed and closed eyes.

"Bolt," Spot started and slowly brought his hand away, "if anythin' happens to me this Sunday at the factory, I want you'se takin' ovah."

"Conlon, shut—"

"No." He put his hand up to stop him. "You'se the only one I want leadin' Brooklyn, ya hear? I won't have it any otha way," he told him firmly.

Without saying a word but with merely staring him down hard, Bolt nodded. "A'right, Spot."

"Noodle, ya heard me just now, in case anyone asks or tries to argue with it. Got that?"

Noodle nodded dutifully.

It was silent for several moments as none of the boys exchanged conversation or peeped a word. They sat in their seats for seconds on end in heavy contemplation, blinking only to bring them back to reality and making small movements to remind them they were alive. After many quiet minutes, Spot spoke up to continue with the situation.

"Noodle, how many's Queens takin' Sunday? Get a number?" he questioned.

The young boy looked above his head in thought to search his memory. "He's takin' fifteen, I think. Yeah, yeah. Fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Spot asked, baffled. "That's real low in numbers. Ya sure it's fifteen?"

"Positive. He still thinks you think it's just a meetin' for the leaders. He's gonna stand there with one 'a his guys, while the otha thirteen are hidin' all ovah the place to get us."

"Right, right." Spot turned to Bolt. "How many d'ya think we should take with us?"

Bolt sat back in his chair and placed his hand on his chin in thought. His lips moved inaudibly while he mentally went through the ranks. "I'm gonna say around twenty four, twenty five. That sound reasonable?"

"Twenty five sounds good."

After a few seconds, a weird noise came from inside as if something had fallen down the steps. The three boys looked at each other and then to the doorway. Moments later, the door opened quickly and Ace stood their brushing off his shirt, proving the object that had fallen down the steps was he. He looked to the boys with a goofy smile.

"Hey fellas, how's it goin'."

"Bettah watch those steps, Ace," Bolt told him sarcastically. "A guy can really hurt hisself goin' down those things."

"Yeah, yeah," Ace replied hurtfully while dusting off his pants. "Just goin' fer a little walk is all. That okay?"

"Oh, by all means, Ace, leave."

Ace frowned angrily at him and trotted through the front porch. He hopped down into the street and began to stroll along the streets. Unbeknownst to the boys on the porch, though, he headed toward Gabby's apartment.

Spot sighed and leaned his back against his chair. "Bolt, take note…there's no way we'se takin' him on Sunday. I got an idea of who we'll take and he don't make the cut at all. I got thirteen boys, includin' me. Go through and think'a twelvemore guys good enough to take, and we'll have our twenty five."

"You got it, Conlon."


	20. Stains

Minutes sluggishly passed by as Gabby stood in her apartment over a bucket of water doing some laundry. Her dark wet hair hung heavily from her head as it dripped down to the floor. The room was spotless and clean, as she had been cleaning all evening, in an effort to rid the dirt from her life. Even so, after all the brushing and washing, Gabby still felt dirty and filthy, unable to wipe it all off. She had a terribly firm grip on one of her shirts as she plunged the clothing into the water and scrubbed it hard against the washboard. Her hands had become saturated and cold from the water, and red from handling her clothes with such force.

The front door opened and Ace strolled right into the room.

"Someone's been busy," he greeted while surveying the immaculate area.

Gabby looked up and around, finally noticing Ace had arrived. Her face was flushed and tired-looking. Ace gave her a strange look.

"What's goin' on?" he inquired, concerned.

"Nothing. What d'you mean?" she replied, dazed.

"Ya always cleaned when somethin' bad happened when we was little. Freaked me out. What's wrong?"

"I told you. Nothing." Gabby returned to the water and thrust the shirt one last time before wringing it out with her numbed hands. "Just cleanin' up everything. I'd hate to see what _your_ place would look like if you lived on your own."

Ace rolled his eyes and walked around the room. He ducked under the line of drying clothes and hopped onto the kitchen table, placing himself next to the bucket of water. "There's rumors flyin' around about a party er somethin' on Friday at Sonny's fer Brooklyn. Spot'll probably take you, in case ya're wonderin."

"All right."

Ace turned to face her as he urged, "C'mon, what's goin' on?"

Gabby quickly picked up another shirt and dumped it into the water without giving any hint that she had heard him. She picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it vigorously against the fabric. Her eyes strained onto the wash and fixed on it intensely. Ace furrowed his eyebrows and watched her skeptically. He reached out his arm and held her wrist, stopping her scrubbing.

"Gabby…" Ace said with a worried tone. "There's somethin' you ain't tellin' me."

She hesitated and dropped the soap and skirt back into the bucket. She sighed and looked at Ace directly in the eye. "How's this going to end?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"How's this ending? What's exactly going to happen? I know you're not telling me something either."

Ace sighed, irritated, and hopped down. "Gabby, ya know what we're doin' and I ain't keepin' secrets from ya. Why can't ya just accept the way things are? This is what we're in, this is it. Why're ya doin' this? Ya knew ahead 'a time full well what this is. Jesus, Gabby…"

"Shut _up_, Ace! I'm sorry if I have difficulty stabbing someone in the back like this. I guess it's just my fucking conscience working against me, forgive me if I have a heart."

"And I don't?"

"No, Ace, you don't! You're a cold, heartless bastard and you dragged me into this shit when you _knew_ I would be easy to hook! I can't believe you'd do this to me. You're just using me to get back at Spot because of your mistake with some _stupid_ war that probably didn't mean anything in the first place."

"Hey, ya're crossin' the line now! I wouldn't expect someone like _you_ to understand what goes on with our lives. You'se just stick to what ya know best; cleanin' and sleepin' with the enemy, a'right?"

Gabby gripped the edge of the splintered, wooden bucket tightly. Her knuckles grew white and her jaw clenched hard until her teeth felt as though they would shatter. She wanted to throw the bucket at him and drown him in the water.

"I can't do this anymore," Gabby responded quietly after moments.

"Oh and what're ya gonna do? Run away? He'll find you and kill you, Gabby, don't ya understand? It's way too late to run now. We got ourselves into this and now we gotta get ourselves out, alive, if ya don't mind. If ya can't stay in it for yaself, d'ya think ya can at least fer me? I'd prefer to live until next Monday."

"I…" Gabby stammered as her thoughts raced about her mind in a disorderly fashion, certain words being emphasized and repeated. "I just…to Spot…I can't…"

Ace glared at her as she struggled to create a sentence, until it became very clear to him what she was saying. His face went blank for a moment as he closed his eyes and the anger built up within him. "Ya bettah work on that, Gabby…"

"What?"

"I can't be_lieve_ you!" Ace shouted suddenly. "Why did ya let yerself do this? Huh? Why? Ya knew you weren't allowed to do this!"

Gabby pursed her lips and threw the wet piece of clothing onto the floor out of anger. "It's not like I planned this, Ace! God, do you have any care at all for other people? Yes, I have feelings for him, okay? Is that what you're looking for? There's your answer! I _love_ him!"

The room was deafeningly silent after that. Gabby stared hard at Ace as he stood with his hands in fists staring down at the ground.

"Look…" Ace began after minutes of quiet, "I know this must be…difficult fer you…but set those feelins aside. Stayin' alive is much more important than lovin' someone, Gabby. Ya gotta think 'a yerself now."

Gabby huffed out a breath quickly and picked up the dripping skirt from the floor. She let it back into the water and folded her arms over her chest. Ace started making his way slowly towards the door.

"Tyce said he'd stop by later," Ace said just before opening the door. "Tell 'im Brooklyn's takin' twenty five with 'em on Sunday. Just found that out listenin' to 'em today. Do it, Gabby, or I'll go after ya myself."

Later, much later that night, after she had finished doing the laundry and it hung across the room to dry, Gabby placed a chair facing the window. She rested her chin on her hand and watched the city beneath her and the sky above her, wanting to leave more than ever. Her hair had dried completely and flyaway pieces blew around occasionally in the wind. She thought seriously about going to see Spot; he made her feel happier than she had been in a long time. A knock then came to the door and she anxiously went to open it, anticipating seeing Spot.

Her smile vanished in an instant as she stood in front of Tyce. Although his face was downward and a hat was covering most of his hair and forehead, Gabby knew whom it was instantly. She rolled her eyes and let him in.

"Evenin'," Tyce greeted as he took off his hat and twirled it around his fingers. In his other hand was a sack of something, though Gabby neither knew what it was nor wanted to know. "I heard 'bout Brooklyn's lil' party comin' up."

"You did?" Gabby looked at him, surprised at how quickly news somehow got back to him. "Wait, you're not planning something for that night, are you?"

Tyce looked at her, then above him in contemplation. "Ya know, that ain't a bad idea…"

"No, no, I wasn't suggesting that! Tyce, don't do anything," she pleaded.

A wicked smile came onto his face and it looked as though he could laugh. "Don't worry, I ain't tryin' nothin'."

Gabby breathed easier and relaxed. She could feel herself tensing up by the mere presence of him and she wanted him to leave immediately. Tyce held up the bag and thrust it into her hands.

"Fer the party," he told her.

"What?" Gabby opened it and found a mess of red and black clothing piled up into something resembling a dress. She sighed exhaustedly, realizing it was probably something Tyce had gotten from one of his whores in Queens. From the looks of it, it seemed low-cut and probably too small for her. "What is this, Tyce?"

"Conlon won't be able to take 'is hands off ya if yer wearin' that."

"I thought the idea was to _not_ sleep with him…"

"It is." Tyce placed his hand on her shoulder ready to explain a concept or something. "Ya _haven't_ slept with him and ya ain't _gonna_ sleep with 'im neitha. This is just to take his mind off Sunday. By that time, he won't be satisfied. Y'see?"

Gabby gave him a strange look that evidently notified Tyce that he was officially going insane. Nonetheless, rather than risk setting him off, Gabby sighed and took the sack again, agreeing to wear the dress.

"So, ya got anythin' new to report?" Tyce questioned.

"No. I got nothin'."

He watched suspiciously, as she stared at him blankly. His eyes were penetrating her sharply with demanding question. Her heartbeat quickened and she bit her tongue before letting what Ace had told her fall out of her mouth.

"A'right," Tyce replied reluctantly, still giving her an doubtful look. "I should get goin' then."

With her heart still in her throat pulsating uncontrollably, Gabby followed behind him to the door. Tyce reached for the doorknob, turned around quickly, and held one hand to her cheek. His fingertips brushed against her pale skin briefly, as she struggled to maintain stillness. She blinked several times and looked the other way, though she could see him looking her over. He leaned in to kiss her lips. She dodged it impulsively by turning her head, and instead endured him kissing her cheek. Gabby winced as his lips collided with her skin and he kissed her no more than three times.

He finally pulled away and exited without another word. Gabby leaned her back against the door, forcing down the urge to vomit. She dropped the bag to the floor and covered her mouth, thoroughly disgusted with everything she had done so far.

Before going to bed that night, Gabby took another bath, against the wishes of the other tenants, and scurried about the room in hopes of finding something new to clean. No matter how many times she cleaned, though, she couldn't remove the enormous stain she had put on her life. The only other thing dirty she could find, though, was the dress she was intended to wear to this so-called party on Friday. She hadn't even bothered to remove it from the bag and she already hated it. As she sat on the edge of her bed, she hurled it across the room and it landed in a heap next to the door.

With a choking lump in her throat, she plopped her head down to the pillow and hoped to die in her sleep.


	21. Gathering of Brooklyn

Immediately after lunch and selling Thursday's morning edition, the Brooklyn boys gathered in the bunkroom for a meeting called by Spot. By then, everyone had learned of the conflict coming up on Sunday, yet there were a few things that needed clearing up. As they filed into the room, all forty two of them, the atmosphere morphed into one of not-so-delightful anticipation and impatience.

"This bettah be a good plan," said fifteen-year-old Noah with doubt. "Remembah last time how confident they was? Look how that turned out."

Sixteen-year-old Jimmy nodded his head in agreement. They entered the room with their fellow newsies and stood leaning against one of the bunks.

"I ain't sure Spot's in the right mind to be makin' these decisions," Jimmy stated. "He's been actin' all weird lately, not showin' up a lot and bein' all quiet talkin' to Bolt."

Noah crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head to himself, agreeing with Jimmy's observations. He looked in front of the crowd of boys and watched their leader. Spot was sitting on the side of his bunk with his palms on the tip of his black cane that stood straight up from the floor. Bolt paced in the small area next to him, occasionally speaking to only Spot. Noah let out an anxious sigh and waited impatiently while everyone came into the room.

A couple of minutes passed and the last of the stragglers arrived and took a seat in the back of the narrowly spaced rows of beds. Bolt looked at Spot and gave him a nod. Spot nodded in response as the two of them exchanged reassuring looks. He rose from the bed and slid his cane into the loop of his suspenders. For some reason the memory of a situation similar to this came to his mind. It was of himself approaching his boys about a decision as to help Manhattan out or not with the strike. He remembered already knowing the outcome of that discussion, because he knew his boys would make the right decision; and he remembered the confidence he had, and he felt it now.

The group quieted to an almost eerie silence as Spot stood before them preparing to speak.

"A'right, I'm gonna make this quick. To make everythin' clear, we got word 'a Queens callin' us out to a meetin' this Sunday. They sent us a message to be there at seven to talk about territory problems. We had a spy in Harlem for a real long time, Noodle, and when he came back we found out Tyce is tryin' to trick us.

"He and fifteen 'a his boys are gettin' there at six so they can attack us when we get there. Lucky fer us, we have their plans. Bolt and I been talkin' this ovah fer a while, and we'se decided to take twenty five to the factory at five to get Tyce before he gets us." Spot paused to let the information settle.

Hushed murmurs and whispers went around the room. Boys turned to each other to question the plan and voice their thoughts. Spot looked to Bolt at his side.

"Fellas, fellas," Bolt spoke to hush the group, "let's finish and then we'll open it up to questions."

"We got our twenty-five," Spot explained further, "I thought long an' hard about wo we gonna take and I think I picked the best. Before I go on and name 'em, anybody got somethin' they wanna say?"

The boys looked around and turned their heads to see if anyone spoke up. Nearly ten seconds passed until, to Spot's surprise, Jimmy broke the silence. Of all people to speak up, he expected it to be Ace. But Ace seemed to be blatantly absent for some reason.

"Yeah, I got a question," Jimmy said. "How d'we know it ain't gonna end up like it did last time?"

Slowly and surely, the forty-one other pairs of eyes traveled back to the front. Once again Bolt and Spot exchanged looks. Spot paused, thinking about how he should answer that. His hand found its way to the tip of his cane near his hip as he pondered it over. He couldn't say he wasn't prepared for something of this nature.

With a quick inhale of air, Spot looked out at all the doubtful eyes in his presence. "Boys, ya have my solid word…I will not let ya down this time. Not now. Not evah. I can promise all 'a you that right now. I know I made mistakes last time, but I can't take that back and I can't ask fer your forgiveness. All I can ask for is yer trust. I won't let ya down."

Spot panned over his boys, hoping he had gained the full support of them. Somehow, thought, he had felt it. Jimmy lessened his hard glare at Spot and nodded hesitantly, but ultimately confirmed his trust. Spot then rattled off the twenty-five names from memory, and put a close to the meeting. When the others were leaving, the air had changed drastically. As they dispersed, a new, and old, faith was restored in their leader.

The twenty-five stood silently around Spot and bolt while the others exited. Though they were touched the smallest bit of fear, each of their eyes possessed a look of confidence and understanding. Spot pulled a crate from underneath the bed and pulled it over to the center of the circle. The boys' eyes widened the slightest as they looked at the box's contents. Thirty miscellaneous weapons were piled into the crate, filling the boarded walls. They varied in size, shape, color, and intent, but they all had the same purpose.

"We can't rely on our slingshots," Spot said as if answering the unanimous question.

"Boys, take yer pick," Bolt told them. "Ya can only choose one, so choose wisely."

The compilation of knives, pistols, blades, chains, tools, and other dangerous items sat threateningly before them, untouched.

"When ya've reached a decision on which lovely one you'll take with ya, get to know it a lil' bit, see what I'm sayin'? Do what Conlon does with his goil. Love it. Stroke it. Take it out to dinner." Bolt smiled at Spot and patted him teasingly on the shoulder. "But fer the love 'a God, do _not_ try to use 'em er fire 'em."

One by one, they stuck their hands into the crate and took a weapon of choice.

* * *

Gabby tapped her feet together lazily as she sat on the porch railing of the lodging house. Spot had asked her to meet him there and it sounded like he really needed her. She wondered what it must have been like for him, to have the heavy weight of Brooklyn on his shoulders, to see it from the other side.

"Such bullshit," Ace muttered after giving the door another swift kick.

"C'mon, are you really that surprised?" Gabby asked him.

She had watched the whole thing play out: Ace was hurrying to get to the meeting and he was the last one to arrive. Thompson had been at the door seeing everyone inside. When Ace had arrived, though, Thompson stopped him and told him the meeting was not for him, by order of Spot. After a graphic conversation decorated with plenty of curses and a near fistfight, Thompson shoved Ace way and locked the door. Thompson had even given Gabby a threatening look.

"I am, actually," Ace replied angrily. "I need to be in there. Why'd they do that?"

_Because they're smart. _Gabby quickly glanced at the fire escape on the side of the building and decided not to tell Ace about an alternative entrance. Though she knew that the act was minimal, Gabby felt as though she was doing a partially good deed.

"Well, I guess you missed your chance," Gabby said emotionlessly.

Ace slowly turned his head towards her, and it was the first time Gabby ever felt scared of him. She gulped slightly and felt a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ace approached her quickly and grabbed her shoulders. His face was but inches from hers.

"Don't you mess this up fer us," he growled in a low voice, pointing his finger at her. "How many times do I gotta tell ya this?"

Gabby could feel her eyes turn frightened, and her breaths were short. She pressed her quivering lips together and suppressed the feeling to cry. Ace's hard eyes suddenly softened and he slowly let go of her shoulders, telling her he was sorry. He stepped the side of her and thought to himself for a while. Gabby subtly rubbed her arms in pain and swallowed the lump in her throat. The boys began filing out into the street and Ace rushed off the porch to join them in hopes of getting some information.

Wiping her eyes dry and sitting up straight, Gabby smiled once Spot came out last. At first, he did not see her and he held the back of his neck and rolled it around. _I feel your pain_, thought Gabby. Spot heaved a sigh and caught notice of Gabby's presence. He turned and faced her, smiling thankfully for a moment. He walked toward her and greeted her with an innocent hug and kiss.

"It's set," Spot told her. "Everythin's set fer Sunday."

Gabby stared deeply into his worrisome eyes and nodded.

"There's also this thing tomorrow night at Sonny's. Just a party er somethin'. I'm takin' you, right?" he smiled, answering his own question for her.

"Right," she said after a few seconds. She tried faking a smile, an act at which she had become an expert, but for some reason, the muscles in her cheeks and face would not allow it. Instead, her lips fell to a quiver and she looked down, mortified that she had allowed this to happen. Surely, it would all come spilling out anytime now.

Spot furrowed his eyebrows and held her shoulders, asking her what was the matter.

Gabby sniffled and wiped her red, teary eyes. She grabbed Spot's shirt and pulled him towards her, burying her face within his chest. Fortunately, she had gulped down the lump that had grown earlier and she simply held him close to her. He rubbed her back lovingly, confused at the outpouring of emotion. Gabby sniffled once more and looked up at him with saddened eyes.

"I just don't understand why it has to be like this," Gabby said, "why you guys have to fight to put an end to everything."

"I wouldn't expect you to. It's just one of those things ya're kinda born with and ya live with these boys all ya life. I can't just sit back and let 'em be treated like this. If you were one 'a us, you'd feel differently."

Suddenly, while listening to Spot talk, Gabby became very angry; to whom, she did not know. She wanted to take his words and spit on them, throw them away, stomp on them. She hated what this had become and she hated being involved with this. This was not her place in life, to be some boy's whore he used to get back at someone. She was mad at everything that she had become.

"Yeah, well, from what I've seen and heard, it's stupid and pointless. Boys dying just so they can prove to each other who's better, or which territory is stronger. Newsboys. There is so much you guys can do but you waste your time with these wars and life-or-death situations," Gabby said, more hurtfully than she had intended.

Spot looked at her, both surprised and offended, and took a step back, breaking from her embrace. He took in her insulting thoughts and was speechless. Gabby looked at him through a hard gaze and at once changed her face. She came to her senses, realizing what she had said and how she had said it.

"Oh, Spot…I'm so sorry…"

"No. Don't apologize," Spot said sternly, proving he was not certain an apology was not wanted. He looked in another direction and folded one arm over his chest, and held his neck with the other.

"I just don't see why it has to end like this."

"Ya don't need to," he responded quickly. "Why d'ya think I quit talkin' to you about this stuff? I figured it was not big deal to you. I didn't want ya to get involved or in too deep and maybe get you hurt over my 'stupid' way 'a life."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," Gabby sobbed, "please, Spot, I didn't mean to." She hopped down from the railing and grabbed his arm.

"No, obviously ya meant somethin' when ya said that." He pushed her hand away and began walking off the porch. "I gotta think about some things…"

"Spot, I said I was sorry!" Gabby ran in front of him and stopped him.

"No, it's fine," he replied weakly, looking at the ground and not at her eyes. "I just need to re-think some things."

"What d'you mean? I didn't mean what I said."

"I just need to think about things, a'right, Gabby?" His voice jumped up an octave and he stepped to the side, walking away from her quickly.

Gabby paused for a moment and stood amongst the hustling crowd of people, feeling more alone than ever. The anger again gathered within her and she felt more frustrated than she had ever felt. She turned hard on her heels, shoved people out of her way, and caught up to Spot who was walking briskly ahead of her. She grabbed his arm and turned him around.

"Why are you doing this?" Gabby found herself asking him in a fiery tone. "Huh? What do you need to think about?"

Spot closed his eyes and hardened his jaw. "Gabby, please—"

"No! Why're you walking away from me? Talk to me!" Gabby then smacked his chest hard. "Talk to me, dammit!"

Spot looked at her and said nothing. Gabby proceeded to hit his chest and shoulders in a fit of rage as warm tears began streaming down her cheeks.

"Thinking about leaving me? Is that what you gotta think about, Spot? Breaking up with me before you go off and fight? Is that it? Answer me, Spot!"

Before giving him any chance to answer, Gabby slapped his face and started smacking and hitting and punching him. After Spot felt he had endured enough, he grabbed Gabby's arms as she struggled powerlessly to break free. She soon found herself not beating Spot, but wrapping her arms around him tightly and holding him close. Her cheeks were drenched with hot tears as she cried painfully into Spot's chest as she held her tighter than ever.

"I don't want to lose you," Gabby told him through her sobs.

Spot wanted to reassure her with his whole heart that she wouldn't lose him, that he would always be there for her; but he could not lie to her. He instead bit his tongue and kissed her on the head.

"Look at me." He held her cheeks with his hands and wiped away the tears as she tried to look at her feet. "Hey…Look at me, Gabby."

With drenched eyes, and a red nose and cheeks, Gabby lifted her head.

"It's gonna be okay," Spot told her. He only wished he could believe it himself.


	22. It Was Love

_Asshole_, Gabby thought while looking at her reflection. _I can't believe he's making me wear this_. She looked down at her chest that was practically oozing out of the plunging neckline. _Of all times to grow breasts…_The red, satin dress covered in black lace hugged her corset tightly without giving much room to breathe. She pushed her boobs further down into the whore's clothing and sighed; she certainly _felt_ like Tyce's whore.

"'Don't sleep with him, blah, blah, blah'," Gabby mocked to herself. Tyce's way of thinking was never really something she could understand clearly; it was complex and extremely unique (and not in the good way). If one were to even _try_ to comprehend his wavelength, no doubt they would have to tread carefully. Hell, they would need something for mental protection.

Gabby turned around, glancing at the intricately stitched back, and brushed her fingers over the beaded straps that fell off the shoulder; under any other circumstances, the dress was very pretty. The uncomfortably tight garters pinched her legs and fed into the black stockings. With a sigh, she adjusted her hair that she had curled into ringlets pined into a low ponytail behind her ear. With a few quick smears of dark makeup over her eyes, she was done.

"I should do it just to spite him," Gabby said on the topic of sleeping with Spot. She cocked her head to the side and pondered. A thought then came to her mind: Perhaps love for all the right reasons should not be ruled out either.

For some reason unbeknownst to Spot, he had a feeling that this evening was going to be different. As he paced up the steps to Gabby's front door, he could not shake this feeling of uncertainty and exhilaration at the same time. Perhaps it was the hype of the party that had been built up that was causing nervous butterflies to form in his stomach; maybe it was the upcoming event this Sunday that caused his nerves to shake at random times.

He brushed off his brown jacket sleeves and ran a hand through his hair. Standing outside the door, he held a small-stemmed rose in his hand and knocked three times. The door opened after ten seconds and Spot needed to catch his breath upon seeing her.

"Do I look okay?" Gabby asked doubtfully and timidly. Her made-up face took the shape of insecurity.

Spot's bottom lip fell slightly as he looked her over, more than content with what he saw. _Much_ more. He would have to get used to seeing her as she was now—he couldn't keep gaping at her like this. He blinked back to reality and shook away the mess of thoughts in his head. Gabby was looking more unsure with every passing second.

"Are ya kiddin' me?" Spot grinned as he walked in and pulled her close to him. "Ya just…_yeah_, ya look _more_ than okay."

"It's not too much, is it? I mean, I just picked it up from an old friend." She giggled as he looped a ringlet around his finger and bounced it back to place.

"No, no, it's perfect. Everyone'll be like this."

That was very true: Spot always made sure his boys and their dates dressed nicely and looked presentable whenever attending one of these things. It was as if he was trying to go public with their battle, or something. A last outing was supposed to be done properly, in his mind.

Spot took the rose in his hand and tucked it neatly behind her ear as if it were a corsage. Gabby smiled the way she first realized she truly liked Spot, and linked her fingers with his as they exited the building.

As they strolled down the block toward Sonny's making small talk, Gabby then decided that Tyce did not exist. If not forever, then for this night. Tonight, there was no such thing as the Queens leader, her job, or any type of war. They were mere figments of a colorful imagination, a mirage, an illusion of the mind stimulated by the darkest emotions. The only thing that was real was the one emotion that, above all, conquered the rest. And that was love.

* * *

Sonny's restaurant was alive and jubilant with Brooklyn boys and girls for the party. The building was packed with newsboys in high spirits and bright outlooks of events to come. Laughter echoed through the air, among other things, such as a small band situated in a corner to provide upbeat music. The waiters hustled around the large, crowded room to deliver orders of food and large quantities of alcohol. A common site of their kind, a table covered with playing cards and money played host to an intense game of poker. From the looks of it all, one would suspect they had already defeated Queens.

A feeling of satisfaction washed over Spot as they stood before the restaurant. It was easy to see, judging from what he saw through the windows, that his boys were one-hundred percent on his side. In his mind, there was no break in the chain or divide that stood between them. Unbreakable. For the first time, in a long time, it was just one Brooklyn. Conlon's Brooklyn. It was also a very united one at that.

As soon as Spot twisted the doorknob to enter, a wave of bliss greeted him. The music lifted in spirit and the attention was shifted swiftly to the king himself. Gabby gripped his hand tightly as she stood close to his side, soaking in the feeling of royalty. She couldn't help beaming, nor could she help feeling proud, for some reason or another.

Bolt hurried over to Spot, eyes gradually blazing and a goofy smile about his face, holding a shot glass of golden liquid. Above the applause and cheering, he shoved the glass into Spot's hand and clumsily told him to "say somethin' meaningful!" Spot snorted a laugh and lifted his drink to a toast as the noise plummeted at once to a pleasant silence.

"Let's see, somethin' meaningful…" Spot thought aloud to himself. He ran through his mind in search of a nice saying or cliché, but came to a laugh and said, "Just enjoy the rest 'a yer night 'cause the only people that truly matta are the ones in this room."

The cheering picked up again immediately and Spot downed the strong, burning liquid. He let out a loud yell and the party resumed. With several kisses on the cheek to a blushing Gabby, Spot directed them to a table near the poker tournament.

Into the night, the alcohol flowed throughout the room, and king's jesters played faster while getting happier and merrier. The king sat on his throne with the queen on his lap, socializing with the imperial boys and stealing some royal kisses. Occasionally, he would take a majestic shot and order the poker winner a noble glass of beer.

After two shots of God-only-knows-what and a couple glasses of beer, Gabby excused herself politely from the table to get some fresh air. Outside the noise-filled room, the sky was clear with a thousand glistening dots across its canvas. The big, full moon sat between two buildings and shone down onto the cheeks of Gabby. She was living young and enjoying every moment of it. Every good feeling she possessed came to life and had presented itself in the form of this party. Though, just as life had reached its high, a cold and lifeless hand grabbed her arm.

Gabby gasped, terrified, and jumped back. Ace stood at her side with a stiff face, and gripped her bare skin with force. At first, for a split second, she did not comprehend what was going on; but then her dream burst into an ugly reality. Ace pulled her in close so that his face met the side of her head and he could whisper sharply in her ear.

"You may be livin' it up like you'se on top 'a the world tonight, princess, but don't forget what we gotta do."

She closed her eyes and locked her jaw to prevent any sudden burst of anger to unleash itself on Ace.

"I know," Gabby answered simply. "Please don't bother me now." She unhinged his fingers from her now swollen arm and stepped away. "I know."

As Gabby took a breather outside, Spot continued his overseeing the round of cards with extreme amusement. Bolt, Thompson, Glover, and Jimmy were seated around the table in a battle to see who the ultimate poker champion would be. Spot watched as his friends strained to see five cards, as opposed to ten. Then, a familiar face entered the room and was greeted with a reasonable amount of welcome. Spot jumped up and made his way to Jack Kelly. With an oddly warm smile, Spot shook his hand as they conversed.

"So, what brings ya ovah here, Cowboy?"

"Just thought I'd stop by an' wish ya luck this Sunday. Not that ya're relyin' on luck er anythin', I'm just wishin' ya well." Jack's ever-present smile was not quite as bright when he was talking to Spot, which was strange, considering the others were in a state of euphoria.

Spot hesitated his response as if he could not process the tone in which Jack was speaking. But for a moment, the leaders of Manhattan and Brooklyn connected.

"Thanks, Jack." Spot patted his shoulder. "And thanks fer comin' to all the meetings and keepin' us up to speed. Good luck with Harlem, an' you _know_ we'll help you'se guys if ya need it."

"Yeah, I'll let ya know how it goes. But I think we got this covered."

Jack looked around, bemused, at the partiers. A primitive game of beer pong was being played at a nearby table, and applause sounded as the small band completed its song.

"Ya know, I been hearin' about boys talkin' about this battle all ovah," Jack said. "Midtown, East Side, Bronx. Even Boston and Jersey. This thing's big, Spot."

Spot's lips stretched into a wide expression that was neither a smile nor frown. He simply nodded his head. "Yeah, I ain't sure how this'll end, but I got a good feelin' about it."

Gabby entered from the door behind Jack. She smiled briefly and quickly told Spot she would wait for him. Jack waved a small goodbye and sighed.

"With Tyce bein' the crazy, son of a bitch that he is," Jack began after moments, "I'm honestly real surprised he hasn't…attacked you _personally_, Spot."

Conlon looked back and watched Gabby sitting properly in his chair. "No, Tyce knows I'd kill him the second he lay a hand on her."

The festivities progressed well into the night; Thompson defeated Bolt to win the whole game, the restaurant's supply of anything alcoholic was running low, and the band never faltered in skipping a beat. Gabby ran her fingers along the collar of Spot's jacket and she pressed her head warmly against his shoulder. Their fingers laced together at their sides as they moved about slowly on the dance floor.

"You know, the music is a lot faster than this," Gabby told Spot above the sound of the fiddle's quickened tunes.

"Uh-huh." Spot stepped back, twirled her around, and pulled her back in again. "But what's the rush?"

A light took over Gabby's face as she was taken back to their first kiss there in her living room while they danced, much like they were doing now. She moved his hand to hold the other side of her waist as she pulled him by the back of the neck into a soft lip lock. The music seemed to slow, and their surroundings went into that blurry haze, much like you would expect a kiss of that impact to do.

"You wanna get outta here?" Spot whispered.

Gabby gripped the back of his neck and let one hand wander down to his chest. Her fingertips brushed over a suspender strap until she took it into a firm hold. Without another word, she looked up at him, pecked him on the lips, and started leading him to the door, his hands never leaving her.

There was a sense of absolute urgency in the way Spot kissed her, that was certain. It put her in quite the predicament, because as Spot held was planting his lips over hers, Gabby could not oust the image of Tyce from her mind. Yes, the predicament was a sticky one, with one side as her duty to Tyce, and the other side her love to the Brooklyn enemy who was holding her against the wall and kissing her passionately. Her body took over the advice of her mind when she quickly removed his jacket, and especially when she ripped off his shirt with more power than she knew she had.

Tyce's image strengthened when Spot unbuttoned her dress hungrily and corset with incredible ease, and she kissed him back in just her slip dress. The battle kicked up a notch too when his hands went below her bottom and he lifted her up to carry her into her bedroom. As Spot lay over her entire body, kissing her neck and rubbing her skin, Tyce's haunting face clouded her thoughts. His spine-tingling silver eyes watched her, as there was nearly no turning back now; Spot had just removed that last of her clothing.

_This or that, yes or no. _The window of opportunity was starting to close, just as something _else_ was beginning. Gabby's mind was making it stop, ending it and avoiding the risk of any punishment from Tyce; but her body had detached itself entirely. She was kissing him back eagerly and gripping his skin and pulling his hair. The outside of her, the happier side, was not at all aware of the tormented thoughts inside.

It didn't go away anytime soon. It lasted for much longer. The predicament intensified and it was killing her without forgiveness. Gabby's mind was at war with herself with the battles being deception and lust and romance. The three worst enemies.

It was coming to and end and her brain could hardly take anymore. This was it, this was the end, this was the conclusion of this battle. A winner had been declared. It was Tyce or it was Spot. It was loyalty or desire, her head or her heart. Her mind and body connected back to one. And Gabby, out of breath, rolled over and kissed the victor on the lips. _It was love. _


	23. Tomorrow

It was all a blur. A dizzying, nauseating blur. While Gabby sat at the edge of her bed, she stared at the wall in front of her. Brown wood and nothing special, which was exactly how she felt. After a night with Spot when every bit of emotion had surfaced, there was nothing left. She was numb, numb to everything. No happiness, no guilt, no rage, no sadness. Tyce's voice in the back of her mind had gotten the better of her. Although Spot had showered her with affection on his way out and an absolute promise that he would see her on Monday, Gabby was a lifeless form on her messy bed in her messy clothes staring at her plain wall.

The fire escape from her bedroom window rattled and Gabby could hear the person's weight pressuring the iron. She knew who it was, so it was no surprise when Tyce had opened her window and slid right into her bedroom without warning. No greeting was made, not from what she heard.

"It's fuckin' hot in here," Tyce complained as he stood up on the dusty floorboards. He lifted the window to its highest length, and walked over to the other side of the bed and opened the other. "Aren't ya burnin' up? It's hotter than the sun in here."

Gabby's eyes slowly surveyed her long-sleeved shirt all the way down to the long skirt that reached her black shoes. Really, she hadn't noticed the temperature, among other things as well. Tyce stared at her and walked back over to the window, grabbing a bundle of clothing from the fire escape. He tossed it onto the bed next to her.

"Those are what ya're wearin' tomorrow at the factory."

"What? I'm not going…" Gabby answered slowly.

"Yeah, ya are." Tyce made his way in front of her and placed a hold on either side of her shoulders to talk to her intensely. He bent down to her level and his silvery, cold eyes were connected with hers. "Tomorrow ya're gonna be a Queens boy and when we're in there you gonna hide in a room I'll put ya in."

Gabby stared at him for a few moments. "Why do I even have to go at all? My job's done."

"Because," Tyce began as he curled a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Ya're my good luck charm." He kissed her cheek and came back to her. "Plus I want you to know the feelin' of complete satisfaction fer a job well done when seein' Brooklyn be killed off. I want you to realize just how important you were to this whole thing, you an' Ace."

As Tyce spoke his last words, Gabby looked directly into his strikingly lucent eyes. The clear and lucid color made an inner rage form within her being. The translucent hues of silver and gray endowed anyone a view of Tyce's soul: empty and transparent. A burst of clarity came to Gabby's mind and it surged from her brain and onto her lips in the coldest whisper: "I hate you."

Tyce looked at her for a moment and he stepped back. "You hate me."

Gabby looked coldly at him through the tops of her eyes and did not utter a word. _I want to kill you._ Without movement of any kind in her face, a lone tear dropped from her eye and rolled numbingly down her cheek. _I want you dead._

"Don't forget who's been keepin' you alive through all 'a this," Tyce told her. "I brought ya here and I can easily take you out, if ya know what I mean." He moved forward to her swiftly and grabbed the back of her neck with his strong hand, pinching her skin with his fingers and his thumb placed at the middle of her throat. "Don't mess it up fer me or I _will_ kill you."

Gabby's jaw locked and her empty mind did not fish out a single word. Tyce loosened his grip on her gradually and stepped away. As minutes passed and Tyce continued on his declaration of how great it will be once Brooklyn is gone, Gabby's fervor for Tyce's death grew rapidly. He walked all around her apartment arrogantly, spouting out his ideal borough arrangement. Gabby sat silently in her bedroom. He spoke about friends he had in Boston that would sure enough help him take care of things if ever they got so bad in his utopia of futuristic power.

_Boston, who the hell would come all the way from Boston to help New York?_ she wanted to ask him. _Why would people in Boston care?_ _Why the hell_ Boston_? What is wrong with these newsboys?_

As Tyce named his connections in _Boston_, much to the dislike of her, Gabby looked up and noticed Tyce standing near the fireplace looking out the window. She was unsure of why her eyes had taken her to that particular place, but she stared at it for several moments. The mantle was brown, the fire was dead, the bottom was black. There was a heavy, brass candlestick on the mantle. Gabby took to her feet. For her own sake, she was going to kill Tyce. Her eyes focused onto the shelf above the fireplace and the candlestick's curved features and weight, as she made her way towards it as if possessed. Tyce's speaking was drowning out into a slurring melody.

Gabby reached the fireplace and, much to her advantage, Tyce's back was turned to her. Her steady hand reached for the candlestick and she slowly wrapped her fingers around it until it was firmly within her grip. She stepped forward and raised her arm to make the candlestick collide with the back of his head. Gabby Lawrence, in the living room, with the candlestick. Victim: Tyce Nichols.

Every angry fiber of her being broke loose as her arm began making its way down forcefully. But just as she was to satisfy her craving for murder, Tyce, as if predicting the event on the dot, turned around and grabbed her wrist to stop it from hitting him. Gabby caught her breath and she exhaled heavily in short breaths. Her wrist felt as though the bones were shattering in Tyce's grasp and her arm began to shake. His eyes were burning with anger and the candlestick dropped to the floor with a deafening thud. Without warning, Tyce shoved Gabby in front of him and he backed her against the closed window.

"You _do_ know how easily I can open this thing, don'tcha?" Tyce questioned viciously. "Open this and just let ya slip from my grasp?"

Gabby's teeth chattered in her mouth and her whole body trembled with fear.

"That's what I thought." Tyce let go of her and walked toward the bedroom. "I'm pickin' you up before six tomorrow. Be ready and don't try anythin' stupid."

Gabby stood against the wall for what seemed like an eternity. Tomorrow would be determined on the Brooklyn's strength and courage, both of which she completely lacked. Tomorrow was going to decide many fates for the lives she knew. Tomorrow was everything she had done wrong.


	24. Omens

It was dark inside that room. Dust covered everything—the few windows that were still intact, the walls, and the floorboards that were not hosts to random shoeprints. Spot took a step out of the room's doorway and looked out over the vacancy of the first floor that was once the location of a clothing factory. The machinery had been disassembled; the tables and workspaces cleared; and the only things left were random pieces of wood and fabric. He reached the railing of the second-floor balcony that ran around the indoor perimeter of the large, open room. He placed his palms around the wooden rail and scanned over the setting. His eyes squinted hard to ensure that the twenty-five Brooklynites were safely hidden inside a room or behind a barrier of some sort.

Spot smirked confidently; the weather was good in Brooklyn. Sunny without a cloud in the sky. Selling had also been unusually easy this morning. He had also found a penny on the street just as he stepped out of the lodging house that evening at quarter till five. _Omens_,he thought._ They're all omens._ As he was relishing within this feeling of confidence, Johnny stepped out of his room that overlooked the outside entrance of the factory. He waved the signal and Spot nodded. Queens was coming around the corner. Spot took his place inside his room and pulled his gun from his pocket. He closed the door until there was but an inch until it closed. He backed up against the wall and waited.

"Now er never," he said to himself under his breath. "Now er never…"

* * *

The Queens boys had been walking from their home for what seemed like days. Their gutsy, vengeful morale did not seem to weaken even when Gabby joined their group to the factory. It also smelled, she noticed; Tyce felt it was bad luck for them to bathe before a fight. Gabby thought it was just a sorry excuse for wanting to seem more masculine—she didn't believe in much superstition or luck for this particular element. She did, however, note the irony of the day. The weather could not have been better for such a darkening day. It was almost sickening. She also broke her shoelace this morning; she wrote it off as coincidence. 

Ace jogged up to walk beside her, and Gabby did not as much as glance his way. She looked down at the baggy brown pants she had been instructed to wear. They were so large it was hard to miss them when trying to stare at the ground. The white, collared shirt's sleeves reached well over her hands, leaving her to push them up continuously. To top it all off, she had been given a newsboy cap to conceal her identity, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and hidden beneath it. Gabby felt utterly ridiculous.

"Hey," Ace whispered loudly to her. After she refused a reply, Ace pulled her close and discreetly planted a silver revolver in the pocket of the wool trousers. The weight of the gun came to Gabby and she immediately reached for it.

"Stop," Ace demanded while pulling her in closer to speak. "It's for yer own goddamn protection. Just aim, cock it, and pull the triggah."

Gabby jerked from his hold and glared at him. She pursed her lips for lack of a response and adjusted her cap tightly on her head.

The factory was in sight now and Gabby felt her stomach drop ten feet. The boys around her picked up in their grimy spirits and began smacking each other in preparation for the big rumble. Gabby grimaced and walked with her head down. They arrived seemingly quickly at the entrance and Tyce gathered his fourteen boys up, plus Gabby and Ace.

Tyce huddled them together and reviewed their instructions while Gabby watched the boys' eyes take on a bloodthirsty shade, and she stood outside the group. She huffed and began looking at the building's windows. As her eyes traveled over the red brick, she came to the only clear window visible. Then, sudden movement came from inside the dark room and she froze completely. She was not sure what it was at first and the initial surprise unnerved her. She looked back to the Queens boys dispersing and it hit her: _Brooklyn's here. How could Ace have _missed_ this?_

A part of Gabby wanted to notify Tyce right away, and that was the dutiful, serving part. The other part of her, though, took over and she kept her mouth shut. In her mind she applauded Brooklyn. She wanted all of Queens dead. Tyce reached for the door. If she was to do any fighting at all tonight, it was definitely _not_ in favor of Queens.

Tyce opened the doors and the emptiness of the factory swarmed all around them. Gabby wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She let in a sharp inhale and Ace quickly covered her mouth with his hand. She looked over to her right and hoped the room she had in mind was not taken. Tyce looked back at her, winked viciously, and turned back. While the Queens boys looked all around the enormous space and rubbed their grubby little hands together hungrily, Tyce held up a hand to stop them from walking. Something had been brought to his attention. Gabby pushed Ace's hand away as she watched Tyce intensely to see what was going to happen next. The thought of being shot at by a Brooklyn newsie had not even occurred to her as she was so immersed in watching Tyce's world collapse. She loved it.

Tyce silenced the boys with a mere wave of his hand and bent down. Footprints on the dust-covered floor. Fresh, new footprints. Gabby smiled with a vengeful spirit, and she knew, somewhere, Spot was smiling too. Tyce looked up and noticed the mess of prints leading in various directions and places.

"What is it?" a newsie asked. They looked around to see what had occurred to their leader.

Tyce looked ahead of him and Gabby felt the rage radiating from his being. He stood up and took out his gun quickly. "They're here."

A second later, a single bullet whizzed through the air from a cracked door upstairs and hit a Queens boy in the leg. As he yelled out in pain and fell to the floor, the rest of the group jumped and scattered to a hiding place. Following bullets sliced through the air and hit two more newsboys, lowering Queens' numbers to ten. Ace grabbed a hold of the back of Gabby's shirt and dragged her in a run into the fortunately empty room she had intended in the first place.

Gabby's heart was pounding at a mile a minute and her hands shook vigorously. She could hear the firing of all the pistols and they resounded so loudly that she could feel each one of them in her stomach. Ace pulled her into a pitch-black closet, and before he closed the door, he gripped her shoulders and stood shaking in front of her. He had an expression of terror taking over his face and Gabby had never seen him so frightened.

"Why did you do that, Gabby, why!" he demanded.

"Do _what_?" she replied frantically as sheer horror took place in a deluge of hot tears in her eyes.

"You didn't tell Tyce Brooklyn was comin' here first! Don'tcha realized what you'se done?"

"Don't blame _me_, Ace! You're the one who got all the information, this is _your_ fault!"

Ace let go and grabbed the roots of his hair for lack of something to punch, while muttering panicked obscenities to himself. "Okay, you stay here." He shut the door quickly without letting Gabby say anything else.

Hurriedly, Gabby took out her gun and blindly ran her quaking hands over it, remembering how these things worked. This was not a foreign object to her; her father had a gun for home safety. She had seen him handle it in plenty of ways. Her breathing was getting shorter and more frequent by the second. She moved her fingers over the smooth ridges and twisted it around, getting familiar with it. She wanted out of this place immediately, she thought as she moved the revolver about in her hands. Owning it, possessing it. She knew what she wanted to do with this gun. She didn't want to be here at all. She could hear the gunshots and smack of metal objects against the walls and she could hear boys dying and she could hear them screaming in pain. She didn't want to fight anything anymore. She just wanted to be happy. She didn't want this life, this job, this anxiety; drop, drop, drop. It all came tumbling down.

Before she could do anything else with the gun, through the cracks of the wooden door, she saw Ace hesitating to leave the room. He looked more nervous than he had ever seen, and the image of him chilled her to the bone. He stopped his pacing and turned on his heel to speak to her, the closet door still closed.

"Gabby, if Tyce comes in here—"

Before Ace could finish his advice, the cracking sound of a bullet leaving a gun barrel cut through her ears and Ace fell to the floor on his stomach, blood immediately pouring from his back. Gabby was so stunned she didn't hear herself scream, but she knew it was there. Her hand flew to her agape mouth as she was too afraid to vomit, speak, breathe, move. Her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the closet floor. It was then that the sum of all her fears entered the room with a crazed, menacing look in his eyes.

"Fuckin' lousy bastard," Tyce muttered at Ace's back, and shot two more bullets into the dead body of his loyal servant. He bent down and grabbed Ace's hair. "I trusted you!" he screamed loudly.

Gabby then heard herself breathe again, yet she knew it was the end of her as Tyce's head shot in the direction of the closet. She immediately picked herself up and watched as Tyce stormed toward the closed door. With the only thought of revenge on her mind, she stepped back, and brought her leg up. Just as Tyce was reaching for the doorknob, Gabby collided her foot with the wooden barrier, knocking the door open in a swift motion and sent Tyce stumbling to the ground. His pistol fell from his hands with a deafening crash. Gabby sprinted out of the closet, kicking his weapon across the room in the process. Tyce held his bleeding nose for a moment and took to his feet at once.

Gabby pushed her legs to the ground fiercely in the fastest run of her life, not looking back once. She dodged boys fighting and, very fortunately, missed any flying bullets coming her way. She could not make out the blur all around her as she could only see the destination she was trying to get to: the staircase. It was open. Nobody was on it. She darted towards it and sprinted up the creaking steps, skipping one or two at a time.

Nobody seemed to be fighting on the upper level, and she was extremely thankful for that too. Her eyes whirled around the second floor as she got up to it, and she dashed into a room ahead of her. She closed the door behind her once inside and tried to catch her breath. There were no closets in this one. Just emptiness and no windows. It was practically impossible to see anything. _Shit_. If Tyce were to get find her in here, she was for sure a goner. For some reason or another, she was beginning to think the superstition of a broken shoelace was working against her. _Fuckin' omens_. The omens had sent her to this unfortunately unlucky room.

The door burst open and Gabby shrieked, jumping what felt like a mile high, and a modest light flooded the room. But it wasn't Tyce—it was someone she wasn't expecting to see at all. It was Spot. For a moment, she felt relieved. Yet, Gabby then actually _saw_ Spot in the dark light; he was in a strong stance with his taut arms outstretched in front of him, both of which clutching a shiny black pistol. Pointed directly at her. The only part of his face visible was his eyes peering at his target, who stood there speechless.

The room was deafeningly silent for moments; it was the darkest room in the entire world. Dark with light, dark with its occupants, and dark with their emotions. For those suicidal moments, the world had stopped turning. Two lovers, one with a gun pointed at the other's heart.

A shadowed figure overtook the moment. Tyce stood in the doorway and served as, by any other means, a convenient interruption. Gabby breathed and her eyes flickered to the door. Spot turned as well, his gun turning along with him. Tyce's face, bloody and dirty as were as clothes, had slowly grown a devilishly sly smile. His pistol was tucked between his stomach and pants.

"Well, well, well," Tyce began, following with a round of slow, crisp, applause. "Isn't this a bit odd?"

Spot did not move a muscle. "What the hell're you talkin' about, Nichols?" His voice sent shivers up Gabby's spine; it was filled to the brim with cold hatred.

Tyce placed his hands on his hips, strolling dramatically out of the doorway and around the room. Spot's gun followed his every move. If Tyce took a step, the gun shifted. If Tyce breathed, the gun moved with it. Gabby watched in shock to see what would follow. Tyce was slowly making his way towards her with every fast thump of her heart.

"How've you been doin' since I saw ya last, Conlon?" Tyce inquired, ridiculing the idea of small talk.

Spot refused to respond and his jaw clenched together hard.

"I heard not so well."

"Shut up."

"Been a feelin' a little blue since that day, Spotty-boy?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tyce."

"How bout when I made a little disappearance a while back, eh? Needed to see how you'd react to it, and I must say, kid…you still got it. Spies. Now _that_ was a good idea, if I do say so. Oh, and when Blink died, ya still had it! Shame he had to die on account 'a me messin' with you, ain't it?"

Spot cocked the trigger.

Gabby wanted to break down, shove Tyce to the ground and blast his brains out with his own damn gun. But she was frozen solid. She couldn't keep her eyes off Spot. He hadn't moved his arms since first pointing them at Tyce. He was blinded by hate, and Gabby could feel it pulsating from his mind.

"I see you picked ya'self up again, though, once ya met that girl," Tyce said maliciously.

"Stop it," Spot commanded involuntarily and protectively.

"Gabby was her name?"

"Shut the hell up or I _will _pull the trigger and have no regrets. This is between you and me, Tyce. Don't you even mention her name, y'hear? You talk about her or even _think_ about goin' near her on the off chance that I _don't_ kill you right here, you had bettah run as far and as fast as you can, 'cause you ain't gonna be alive no more if you so much as glance in her direction."

If it weren't for the circumstance in which she was, Gabby would have run up to Spot and planted a big kiss on his lips. However, she came back down to reality and realized that she was the enemy and _he_ was the enemy.

Tyce smiled as if impressed by Gabby's ability to lure a boy into loving her so. He nodded and agreed to Spot's terms. Gabby hoped for a miracle to get her out of here, but she did not want to leave the presence of Spot. She wanted to be there, protect him if anything happened; but he would never understand.

Without warning, Spot lunged to the side, with his other arm still outstretched, and grabbed Gabby's arm with a death grip. He wrapped his strong arm around his hostage's neck. For a brief second, Gabby felt protected; though, it was then that she felt the barrel of Spot's gun pressed directly beneath her chin, poking into her throat. Her heart jumped to her mouth and she could not breathe if her life depended on it. She gripped Spot's arm around her neck tightly.

"You end this thing, I'll let this little bitch boy go," Spot told Tyce threateningly. Tyce's eyebrows raised in anticipation to hear the bargain, basking in the glory of knowing the captive's secret. "I'se already knocked out plenty 'a yer boys just by walkin' in here. If you end this thing, I'll spare this little fucker's life. I know ya got some spot fer him since ya got 'im protected in this room by hisself."

Tyce slowly folded his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to his hip, scratching his chin in pretending to contemplate the offer. Gabby felt Spot's heart rate beating incredibly steadily. He was not afraid of Tyce. Not in the least.

"Conlon, if ya gonna hold one 'a my guys prisoner, you sure as hell bettah know who you're takin' into custody. I don't give a shit about that one…But _you_ might."

Spot's eyes furrowed upon hearing this. "What?"

"Take a look at who ya're holdin, Brooklyn," Tyce told him viciously. "Take a good look and tell me who ya see."

Here it comes. The moment Gabby had dreaded once her feelings for Spot had surfaced. This was it. Whether she would live to see Monday all came down to this moment, there was no way out. As if in slow motion, Spot spun her around, still keeping his hold on her, and he came face to face with the person he threatened to kill. His eyes widened and he instinctively shoved her behind him to protect her.

"Why did you bring her here, Tyce?" he demanded in a deafening volume. "Remembah what I told you about goin' near her?"

Tyce snickered and pushed the end of Spot's gun away from him. "Things are not always as they seem, Spot. Yer little girlfriend, well, she ain't really _yours_."

"What?"

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Gabrielle!" Tyce chimed.

Gabby squeezed her eyes shut and let her sobs choke her. It was time. The end was going to come whether she wanted it to or not. She had to own up to her mistakes, even if she was killed in the process. With timidity, Gabby took a step out from behind Spot. Then two steps. Then, three, four, until she was at the side of her master, the puppeteer that directed her to do everything she had ever done. She looked up, but could not bring herself to look into Spot's eyes. Her shoulders trembled within her cries as Tyce placed a hand around one of them.

Spot's eyes widened even greater and his mouth unhinged with his upper lip. His one true love was working against him all along. His mind went blank to a state of shock as Tyce tore off Gabby's hat, revealing for sure her true identity. He lowered his arm as his pained face stared back at Gabby in utter disbelief. He could not hear anything else around him, not the fighting downstairs, not the streets, not Gabby's sobs, or Tyce's laughter. A burning fire had seared his heart into flames and it felt as though the smoke of it was strangling him.

"Ain't…that…a bitch!" Tyce mocked slowly and loudly through his wicked grin. "Conlon, the only girl you evah loved was workin' for the only guy you evah hated."

Gabby pressed her lips together as tears streamed down her cheeks violently. She looked up at Spot and opened her mouth, hoping any oral movement would stimulate her brain to pop something out. She failed. There were no words.

Spot's disbelief was fading. Acceptance took him over in a matter of seconds, and his face returned to hatred. Gabby watched his eyes turn to a silvery blue, filled with malice and rage, much like Tyce's did. He raised his arm again and pointed his gun ahead of him, unsure of whom exactly to shoot.

Tyce popped up one eyebrow, his face morphing into a murderous expression. He suddenly took the gun from his waistband, wrapped an arm around Gabby's chest, and positioned the pistol so that it dug into Gabby's temple. "Ya gave me a good idea, Spot. I'll give you a choice: save yourself, or save the girl. You give up the gun ya're holdin' and I let this one live, or I blow her brains out and we settle this man-to-man."

Spot clenched his jaw again and swallowed down hard.

"Which is weird, seein' as _I_ want Gabby dead, and, by the look in yer eye, _you'se_ want her dead too. But I got a feelin' that you really did love her. Ain't that sweet?"

Gabby became dizzy, wanting to faint and wake up dead. She deserved this guilt. She watched as Spot held her life in his hands.

"I ain't choosin'," Spot replied. "This is you an' me, Tyce."

Tyce thought on it. "Ya're right, Conlon." He pulled the gun away from Gabby's head and threw it to the ground. He reached into Gabby's pocket and pulled out the revolver. "If I'm gonna do anythin' to you, it's gonna be with _her_ gun. It'll serve as a lil' reminder to ya while we duke it out." He held Gabby close to his body and walked her, with a slight shove, towards the doorway. He lifted her up for a second and then threw her back to the ground, shutting the door in her face and locking it. He turned back to Spot.

"Come one, Conlon, let's settle this. Man-to-man."


	25. Honor

It took everything Spot had not to shoot Tyce as soon as he shut the door. But he couldn't—man-to-man, it meant a standoff. Even as his pistol was gripped tightly within his hand dangling near his leg and there was a war being fought beneath him, he still could not believe what had happened. Gabby was working for Tyce all along. It hit him like a ton of bricks being dropped particularly hard upon his chest. It meant that what they had was not real. _She_ was not real. About the only thing real was this feeling of complete betrayal. He could hear Gabby smacking the door from the other side; he blocked it from his hearing.

"So here we are, Brooklyn." Tyce spun the silver revolver around his index finger several times while pacing around the room. "Pretty much the same place we were a couple 'a months ago, ain't it? Oh, wait…no, that was _me_ standing _over_ you, wasn't it? Yeah, I thought so."

Brooklyn's muscles tightened and he cracked his knuckles within his sweaty palm and fingers. Upon hearing this, Tyce raised his eyebrows.

"Got under ya skin a lil' bit, didn't I? It's okay, I do that with most people. Except for Gabby; I just got under her skirt instead."

Spot's arm instinctively flew up to perfect aim of his gun. His blood was boiling by now and his hatred for Tyce had grown so much that he felt as though he would throw up. Tyce held up his hands mockingly and a snicker danced from his mouth.

"I knew she'd get to ya."

* * *

Gabby sat up from the floor in a heap of large clothing and dust. She banged at the door to the room uncontrollably, on her knees and sobbing restlessly. The door was not budging as much as she tried, and the lock was not giving in at all. For as old as the building was, it seemed the one place she needed to get to was stronger than ever. She flattened her hand and pounded at the wood three times, surely resulting in splinters. 

"Tyce!" Gabby shouted once able to keep down her sob. "Don't do this, take me instead!" A few more hits. A choking weep. "Tyce, please! You can't do this!"

* * *

Tyce rolled his eyes and bent down, picking up a piece of random wood and chucking it at the door. "Shut up, whore!" He rolled his eyes and turned back to Spot. "Not sure why ya'd wanna keep 'er. She doesn't keep quiet for two seconds; no wonder her name's gabby." 

"Who said I wanted to keep 'er? This is you an' me. How many times do I gotta say that?" Spot sighed, aggravated.

"Right, right, right." Tyce tossed Gabby's gun into the air and watched it spin, catching it again in his palms. "You sure you wanna do this here, Conlon? I mean, if I was you I'd wanna do it so everyone'd see it. Although I ain't sure we share that opinion."

Spot cocked his trigger, unable to respond without letting his emotions take over and go on a sick, twisted rampage.

Tyce, while speaking, fit his gun into his grasp. "I mean, what honor is this? A secluded place upstairs with nobody to see? No honor or glory at all. And I woulda thought the Brooklyn leader was the most respectable of 'em all."

Gabby banged against the door once more, this time it sounded as if she had flung her entire body against the barrier. Tyce grunted and stomped over to the entrance. "Gabby, don't you make another goddamn noise er else I'm gonna come out there and give you somethin'—"

Before Tyce could finish, Spot had come up behind him and punched the upper part of his back, the area opposite the lungs. Tyce let out a painful groan. His knees weakened and just as though they were going to give out, Spot switched his hold on his pistol so that he held the long barrel, and shoved the handle deep into Tyce's rib cage.

"How 'bout talkin' to a girl like that, where's the honor, Tyce?" Queens fought hard to keep his balance despite the terrific blows. "Or maybe makin' people yer fuckin' slaves just to get back at someone, huh? Sound _noble_?"

Tyce finally straightened his legs and stood up, his gun held weakly in his hand. He blinked a couple of times to maintain focus, and charged at Spot, going for his abdomen to tackle him to the ground. Spot balled up his fist and sent a punch reeling into Tyce's stomach, the same place where he previously hit him with his gun. If it weren't for his anger taking over, Spot would have felt Tyce's ribs cracking beneath his knuckles. Tyce cowered over, holding his stomach in agony and struggling to stay up.

"What about shootin' someone in the back, Nichols! Remember Blink?"

Spot grabbed a handful of Tyce's greasy hair at the roots, held his head in front of him, and punched him in the nose, the mouth, and the eye. He stepped back for a breath and watched blood pour from his opponent's nose and lips, dripping slowly to the floor and creating a small pool of what Spot liked to call liquid defeat.

"Yeah, I can see where ya're comin' from when ya talk about honor, Tyce."

Queens lifted his head quickly and, without warning, shoved Spot to the ground so that he crouched over his midsection. Spot's pistol fell from his hand and slid across the floor a foot away. A maniacal look shined in Tyce's eyes even through the dark, and he punched Spot in the face with all he had left. His energy was dropping at a fast rate, but he did not want to be known as a loser. He punched Conlon once more, leaving a painful red mark on his cheekbone and blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth.

"_Fuck_ yer honor," Tyce insulted through a fat mouth. He forced Spot's arms above him so that he was unable to use them, and held them down with one arm. With his other hand, he cocked the trigger of his gun. Spot squirmed wildly beneath him, doing his best to try to break free. Tyce situated his pistol quickly so that the bullet would penetrate the skin directly into Spot's heart.

"I ain't got no more honor than you do, Brooklyn." And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

After all the blows Gabby had delivered to the door, she had luckily succeeded partially in creating a modest crack in the wood, in which she could make out what was going on. While she watched Spot kick the shit out of Tyce, she wanted to stand up and cheer, but she couldn't tear her eyes away for one second, and she didn't want to look either. It was double-sided; if Tyce died, she wanted to watch him suffer slowly. But if Spot were to be killed… 

A sharp pain of panic surged through her being. After Spot had hit Tyce in the face several times, Queens was now over top of him, doing the exact same thing to him. She felt her throat choking with terror now as Spot had his arms trapped above him, defenseless as his gun had been thrown to the side. Gabby was now taken to her feet instinctively, planting a firm hold on the doorknob. She moved it around, up and down, in circles. She shoved her shoulder against the door. Gabby felt a budge. She continued throwing herself against the entrance harder than ever until she finally broke through.

Just as she had penetrated the entryway, not half a second passed and Tyce had pulled the trigger of her gun. She screamed out in horror as she held her mouth and stumbled backward to the ground.

* * *

Spot squinted his eyes shut and his chest moved in and out in frequent motions. It was quiet and disturbingly serene. His chest was in pain. He couldn't hear anything. Then he opened his eyes. 

"What the fuck?" Tyce shouted.

Spot opened his eyes fully and looked around. He wasn't dead.

Tyce looked at the revolver in his hands with an angrily perplexed expression.

* * *

Gabby opened her eyes as soon as she heard Tyce speak. She uncurled herself from the ball she had put herself in on the floor, and it took but a second for it to be brought to her attention: _Hurriedly, Gabby took out her gun and blindly ran her quaking hands over it, remembering how these things worked…She moved her fingers over the smooth ridges and twisted it around, getting familiar with it. She wanted out of this place immediately, she thought as she moved the revolver about in her hands. Owning it, possessing it. She knew what she wanted to do with this gun. She didn't want to be here at all. She could hear the gunshots and smack of metal objects against the walls and she could hear boys dying and she could hear them screaming in pain. She didn't want to fight anything anymore. She just wanted to be happy. She didn't want this life, this job, this anxiety; drop, drop, drop. It all came tumbling down. _

She had emptied her revolver during the short amount of time in the closet. _Drop, drop, drop. The bullets had tumbled down_. A quick breath of relief escaped from her mouth and she sat up.

* * *

The hold Tyce had on Spot's arms had weakened upon the realization of emptiness in his revolver. He had shot a blank at Brooklyn's chest. 

Spot pulled his arms out of Tyce's hands and brought them together to collide with his chest. Queens' torso fell backwards and Brooklyn crept out quickly from underneath him. While still crouched down from the shock of the hit, Tyce then fell with his back to the floor again when Spot kicked his boot deeply into his stomach.

Conlon paused and retrieved his pistol from the floor. The balance of power had shifted to Brooklyn, the odds were in his favor. He stretched out his arm so that the gun pointed directly at Tyce, who laid helplessly on the floor with his hands up in defeat.

"Get up," Brooklyn ordered.

Tyce hardened what was left of his jaw and stared head-on into Conlon's now fiery eyes. Spot cocked the trigger.

"I said, get up."

Like a puppy about to endure a severe punishment from its master, Tyce placed his hands on the floor and pushed himself up. With sheer hate running through him, he stood himself up in front of Spot with the deadly instrument staring him in the face, the most shameful position he had ever been.

"Ya're right, Tyce, I ain't go no more honor than you, either." Spot stepped back and brought his foot up to Tyce's stomach, kicking him backward so that he stumbled to the wall. "My boys did."

Not hesitating a moment later, Brooklyn fired the gun and Queens fell down dead to the floor, blood seeping from his chest. Defeat.

Conlon breathed again once he knew he had won. He lowered his sore arm and the weapon fell to the ground. His knees buckled and quaked, and eventually he fell to the floor in exhaustion. The left side of his face throbbed in pain, as that was the location of a bone-cracking knock. He could taste the familiar tang of blood from his mouth and he wiped the small track of fluid from his lip. It tasted like victory to him.

"Spot," came a trembling, terror-stricken voice from the other side of the room.

He strained his eyes in the dark and noticed that it was Gabby. He tiredly got to his feet and took again the gun in his hand.

"Please," she whimpered, "just let me explain—"

"Don't talk." Spot held up his hand and advanced slowly toward her. A look of pain shined over his eyes; not the physical pain that could be cleared up with medicine, but the incurable agony one goes through when experiencing emotional pain.

Gabby gulped and wrung her hands around in front of her, a habit she now noticed. She licked her lips and tasted the salt from her tears. There was nothing for her to say. She was at a complete loss for words. Spot stopped two feet away from her and hesitated before speaking for several moments. A lifetime plus eternity passed around her, it felt like.

"Spot…" she cried into her hands.

"Don't even try." He took a couple steps forward so that he was close enough to hold either side of her jaw painfully tight in his hand. "I don't ever wanna see your fucking face in my town again, is that clear?" His other hand gripped her arm with an even tighter hold, the gun beside it. "Don't you even dare come near me ever again, Gabby, I'm serious. I never want to see you as long as I live."

He held her there for a brief moment and let go, the betrayal burning from him more than ever. Gabby looked into his blue, pulsating eyes and they killed her. She watched him exit the room, and she fell to the ground.

Spot breathed fresh air once on the balcony. He stood at the railing and placed both hands on the pistol. He raised them both over his head and fired. All attention snapped to the Brooklyn leader above them. Boys let go of their victims, kicked the dead ones aside and looked up at Spot.

"Let's go, boys." The famous Conlon smirk spread across his face as he looked down at his triumph. The Brooklyn newsies immediately understood and erupted in cheering success. "Our job here is done."

* * *

**A/N:** Hooray for Brooklyn! The final chapter is in the works, so in the meantime...share your thoughts about what will become of Gabby and Spot's relationship. Review! 


	26. His Brooklyn

It had been four months. Spot had not spoken to or seen Gabby since the factory fight nearly eighteen weeks ago. Brooklyn had never been better, though. The newsies were on top of the world, unstoppable and more respected than ever before. The clouds had lifted from over top of Brooklyn, lifting everyone from their doldrums. Selling was not so bad as before and the boys seemed to be scoring lucky with girls from every borough. Brooklyn was very happy. They had defeated their long-time rival, putting an end to a temporary war, and placed themselves on top of New York.

It seemed like Spot had it all now; the victory, the better reputation, the position on the streets. To anyone unknowing to his life he was the greatest thing to hit Brooklyn in 1900. But truth be told, he was only _slightly_ happier than he was a couple of months ago. He had had his heart ripped from his chest, with quite excessive force, and had it handed to him on a platter. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed for him.

So there he was, on the bench at the Brooklyn train station, with his life packed into a suitcase placed next to him. Spot sat on the hard wooden chair outside the entrance, with his elbows atop his knees. He stared at the ground and tapped his toes around in his shoes in a such a way that suggested he had gone through a wearing and exhausting experience that had left him to ponder what had just happened.

A heavy sigh exhaled from his lips and he leaned back against the seat. He felt the feel of his slingshot still secured in his suspender, and he took it out and placed it on the bench. This was the end of his time in Brooklyn. His reign had ended, he decided. It was time for him to move on. The ticket to Boston sat innocently in his pocket and the corner of it stuck out, staring at him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

It was difficult to leave his home of seventeen years, very difficult indeed. Even though the streets had grown him a thick skin, there was still that layer of homeliness that was easily penetrated. Brooklyn was his baby. He watched over it protectively, day and night; and now he was leaving. Leaving without the one person he wanted to be with more than ever; but she was a ghost. The girl he had fallen in love with was a mere illusion, and it made him want to leave even more.

The conductor stepped out of the train in his navy suit and scruffy grey beard, screaming "All aboard!" to the passengers waiting to load. Spot gulped down the growing lump whose presence he was trying to deny, and stood up. He picked up his suitcase, took a deep breath, and joined the others in line. With every step he took, he felt he was leaving an invisible footprint on the cobblestone. The crisp autumn sun beat hard against the back of his neck as he inched toward the train. As he stepped on, he felt a rush of something different wash over him. A breath of fresh air.

He walked about the train innocently as if he had never seen one of them before, and found an empty seat near the back. He sat down and sat his suitcase next to the padded seat. Again, he looked down at his feet.

It had taken Spot a few minutes to notice it. A girl was sitting in the seat across from him. She was sitting with her ankles crossed beneath her blue skirt, with a wall of newspaper hiding the upper half of her body. Spot shifted his eyes and sat up, and then it hit him. He reached out his hand and touched the top of the newspaper, which was upside down, and pulled it down slowly. They stared at each other for an eternity.

"Hi," Gabby broke the silence weakly. Her eyes were big and sad staring at him.

Spot opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to find any words. Movement stopped and nothingness stirred around them, enveloping them in the silent cloud.

"Hi," Spot breathed finally, both happy and enraged to see her.

Gabby shakily folded up her newspaper and set it beside her. She was notably different, Spot observed. Her face had lost most of its color but had grown some more cheeks, and, without the thinking of a cynical young man, it looked as though she had gained some weight in the midsection. A little _too_ convenient in the midsection. Spot shook the impossible thought away. She looked like a completely different person than from the first time they had met.

"So," she trembled, "how are you?"

Spot stared at her in almost disbelief. "Fine…"

"That's good…good t-to hear." She wrung her hands within her lap and licked her lips. "You look good."

Spot said nothing.

Gabby gulped and tears began to well up subtly in her eyes. "I missed you," she breathed.

"I…" Spot started. Gabby looked at him hopefully, on the edge of her seat. "I'm leaving," he finished.

"I see that…Where?"

"Boston."

"Why?" she replied hastily. Spot looked at her, surprised and offended. "Sorry," she apologized. "I just…well, I figured if you were going anywhere you would go out west or something."

"Oh. Well, you thought wrong obviously." Spot folded his arms across his chest and situated himself so that he sat back in an interrogative and intimidating style. "Where you off to?"

"Nowhere," Gabby answered shamefully and she hung her head. "I just needed to see you, and Bolt said you'd be here. I needed to talk to you about something kinda importat—"

"You talked to Bolt?"

She nodded. Spot lifted his head and brought it down in one nod.

"Well, they're startin' to collect tickets, so ya might need to leave," Spot told her, more aggressively than he had anticipated.

Gabby looked up at him with swollen, red eyes. "Please just let me explain…"

Spot looked over to the side and saw the man collecting tickets at the end of the train. "Ya got about thirty seconds." He unfolded his arms and leaned forward so his hands were clasped together on top of his legs, prepared to hear the best damn explanation of betrayal he would ever hope to hear.

Gabby took in a deep breath and wiped away her tears. "I was confused. Very lost, in fact. My parents had just died, that wasn't a lie, and Tyce came to us with a proposition. I needed the money real bad."

"Us?"

"Me and Ace."

"You _knew_ him?"

"Our families were friends in Queens. I had known him my whole life. A few years before my parents died, his parents got sick too. He had been friends with Tyce for a couple of months by then. So during that whole 'war' before the previous one, Ace was working for Tyce all along, and he helped Queens to win."

She paused and watched Spot take in the information at once. His eyes had widened, but didn't take away from the anger that masked them.

"So when my parents died, Ace came to me with Tyce, saying he could help me out with a favor. In the state of mind I was in, I didn't care what happened to me. So I agreed to help him out…" Her voice began quaking and she started choking on the lump in her throat. "I didn't know, Spot, how it would end or anything. I didn't plan on falling for you the way that I did."

Spot's jaw was clenched as he watched Gabby cry softly before him. He wanted to care about it, he wanted to place his hand on her shoulder and tell her it was okay and that they would just forget about it. But betrayal had a bite that stung far worse than any other, and he was not about to forgive that. It had taken him a long time to trust this girl, or anyone for that matter, and the task of rebuilding it was taxing and emotionally trying.

Gabby's head had fallen into her hands and occasionally a sniffle scuttled from it. "I wasn't lying when I said I loved you…"

Spot bit his lips. He reached out his hand, and, with his index finger, lifted up her chin so that she faced him. His eyes had softened a bit. "Neither was I." He rubbed her wet face with one finger and wiped away her tears emotionlessly with his thumb. "But it's gone now, Gabby. I don't even know you." He dropped his hand.

Gabby broke down even harder. "I'm so sorry, Spot," she sobbed. "I don't know if it's worth anything, but there it is. I'm sorry and I would do anything for you to forgive me. I'm even…" It was on the tip of her tongue, she had almost said it: _…even carrying your child._ But it would just be an excuse; he wouldn't want to hear it. "Nevermind."

Spot slowly started shaking his head in a way that proved he had reached his breaking point. His head cocked to the side and he fought back actual tears himself. He had changed from angry to sad in no time. "I don't think you _can_ do anything…" he said in a low voice, full of sympathy and hurt.

They stared at each other for moments on end. The ticket collector reached their seats, and stood between them.

"I'll need both your tickets before we depart, please."

Spot reached into his pocket and handed the slip of paper to him. The man held out his hand to Gabby in hopes of receiving the same sort of paper. Gabby looked at Spot, not making any movement toward the man.

"No, she ain't goin'," Spot informed him forlornly. His tone was filled with the want to hand the man a ticket for her, but he couldn't. His conscience told him not to let her stay. "We're just sayin' goodbye."

With that, Gabby closed her eyes and let a track of tears fall from her eye. Her lips pressed together and her shoulders fell to their haunches.

"Then you'll need to be on your way, miss," the ticket collector told her. "We're just about to depart." He turned and left them alone.

"So this really _is_ goodbye," Gabby said.

"It's just the way it has to be, Gabby…" Spot swallowed hard again. And then a whisper, "I'm sorry."

Gabby wiped her drenched face with her hands and stood up. "I know. I guess I just wish I understood better."

Spot stood up in front of her, choosing not to look at her growing stomach. He knew. He placed his hands on her arms, making a memory and taking in her touch. He didn't want to let her go, but it had to be done. He needed to let go. As Gabby rested the side of her face against his chest, he rubbed her back lovingly. Before getting in too deep, she pulled back and kissed him on the lips quickly.

"Good luck, Spot." She turned and walked hurriedly toward the end of the car.

He watched her vanish away from his reach. A pain in his chest told him he was to jump off the train and get her back, but his head was telling him to sit back down in the seat and enjoy the ride to his new life. So, he did. He plopped back down onto the seat and held his forehead in his hands.

Just as the train began to start up its engines, Spot's hand flew to his key necklace.

_"What's the story behind this thingy?" Gabby inquired curiously._

_"Well, I'd hardly call it a thingy."_

_"Sorry."_

_"When I was little my pop gave this to me. He said it was their key to the house in Ireland before they came ovah here."_

Home. The feeling he got when he touched his key, and the never-ending feeling he got when he was with Gabby. _Home. With Gabby he felt home. _It wasn't about Brooklyn. It was _her_. Gabby was his home. He was leaving his _home._

The engines began chugging along ever so slowly. This was his last chance, his only chance. But he couldn't; he was going to Boston! He had to leave Brooklyn to start his new life! Conlon smirked. He flicked the imaginary Spot away from his shoulder and listened to the thing that truly mattered, the thing that beat uncontrollably in his chest when he was around her.

Without a single thought running through his head, he grabbed his suitcase, jumped to his feet, and flew down the train car, turning heads of the other passengers in the process. The employees on the train looked at each other in bewilderment and raced to go stop the crazy young man. Spot yanked open the car door and without hesitation, leapt from the train and onto the cobblestone again.

He looked around in confusion at the puzzled and curious faces about him, sifting through them in hopes of finding the one that really mattered to him. His head spun in different directions until he found her. He dropped his suitcase immediately and sprinted towards her, clearing people out of his way in the process.

The wind blew back his hair as he ran to her, calling her name like a mad man. He could hear his heart pulsating within him until she turned around, still clearly distraught and miserable. He reached her finally and pulled her in to a tight embrace.

"What is it?" Gabby asked, baffled.

Spot pulled her to face him. A smile came to him as he answered, out of breath and shaking, "I can't start a new life without you in it. I know, I know it'll be hard, and I'm gonna have to learn to trust you again….but, dammit Gabby, these past months have been the worst of my life, and I got all that I _thought_ I needed. But I need_ you_. Without you, I'm a mess. Just a big, fuckin' mess."

Gabby smiled quivering with a different type of tears rolling down her cheeks. "Spot, I can't _not_ be near you. I love you too much to let you go again." She let out a laugh that mixed with a joyful cry. Leaning in, she whispered, "I think this is where we kiss."

Spot laughed and brought his hands up to the back of her neck. With a slight smirk before, he pulled her in a passionate, deep, loving kiss. After a few earth-shattering moments, he pulled back and kissed her on either sides of her cheeks, on the forehead, on the lips, on the nose. A cloud of misery had cleared over his head, something that had lingered above him for almost a year.

"So what now? What do we do?" Gabby asked.

"I have no fuckin' idea," Spot laughed. He wiped away her tears and held her cheeks. "Don't cry. It's all gonna be okay now."

She nodded and not a single tear fell from her eyes from that moment on. "Well, I don't think I can do _this_ by myself. I mean, I sure as hell didn't make it on my own…" She pointed and nodded down to her pregnant stomach.

"Ya won't have to." He stared at her stomach in astonishment, feeling as though he were about to faint. That was _his_.

After a couple of wavering moments, Spot brought his hands to the chain around his neck and removed it. He held out the necklace in front of him and proceeded to place it around Gabby's neck. "Now ya know I'll nevah leave you."

All his life Spot assumed that everything he ever needed was Brooklyn. He walked Brooklyn, ruled Brooklyn, spoke Brooklyn, and breathed Brooklyn; and from the looks of it, he was about to raise another Brooklyn. But when his baby's life was on the line, something more important came along and left a bigger imprint on his heart. It didn't matter where she was from or the crazy path that had led them there. Now, even though it took a lifetime of searching and plenty of battle scars along the way, Spot Conlon realized what all he needed for his Brooklyn to be complete. And all he needed was her.

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**A/N:** The End! I hope you liked it because I sure liked writing it. I hope you all liked the ending, because I had 5 ideas for alternates going on in my head. I've been throwing around the idea of a sequel, and I'm still on the fence about it. (The baby thing is not only supposed to leave it open for a sequel, but also to elaborate on the feeling of "home"). So, leave me some comments! To sequel or not to sequel, that is the question.

Thank you BUNCHES to my loyal reviewers--honestly, without you guys, this story would have died. Shout-outs to all of you and tons of hugs your way!


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